


A Parade of Paper Faces

by LilahTeminaEast



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilahTeminaEast/pseuds/LilahTeminaEast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many ways it could have happened differently, or not at all. Maybe Kurt got held up in traffic and wasn’t on that particular staircase at that particular time. Maybe he got caught before he made it that far into the school. Maybe he tapped on somebody else’s shoulder. Maybe Blaine was out with flu that day. Maybe Kurt never went to Dalton in the first place. </p><p>Fast forward a few years. Kurt made it through McKinley, barely, and got the hell out of Ohio. Now he’s a Broadway actor just starting to make a name for himself. In fact, he’s recently landed a supporting role in his first movie, an action drama starring none other than uber-famous pop singer turned TV actor turned movie star Blaine Anderson...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to re-edit this at some point. Thank you to everyone who read and commented on it over at Dreamwidth. For those looking for my tumblr: lilahshipseverything.tumblr.com.


	2. Chapter 2

~*~*~*~

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

So their first meeting doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Kurt blames that one guy from the props department. If he hadn’t been walking around all sweaty and muscular, Kurt would have been watching where he was going. Which means his lunch would still be in his hands, rather than all over Blaine Anderson’s very expensive shoes. Totally prop-guy's fault. 

Shitshitshit. Blaine Anderson is staring at him, dripping coffee from his chin-- because of course he’d be carrying hot liquid-- and this is bad. This is _so_ not the epic meet-cute Kurt may have fantasized about, once or twice, watching Tivo’d episodes of _Center Stage_ over the phone with Rachel at three in the morning.

Blaine Anderson is still staring at him; he should probably say something.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Oh my god.” 

Not his most eloquent work, but it’ll do.

He swipes at the spreading coffee stains on Blaine Anderson’s formerly pristine white button down with a napkin until he realizes he’s only making it worse. And also kind of _pawing at Blaine Anderson’s chest_ ohgodohgodohgod he’s so fired. Shortest movie career in history. 

He tries wiping at the flecks of salad dressing on his own pants, just for something to do with his hands while he waits to be yelled at, but they only spread and stain and he gives up with a sigh. Screw it. They'll probably get one of the Jolie-Pitt kids to replace him; his jeans are the least of his worries.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because what else can you say when you’ve just upended a cup of hot coffee and a full container of steak salad over an Emmy-winner? Rachel is never going to stop laughing at him.

“It’s okay.” Blaine mops up the splashes of coffee from his neck and jaw with his sleeve, where the heat has turned his skin pink, and bends to retrieve his cell phone. “Don’t worry about it; I wasn’t watching where I was going either. I shouldn’t walk and watch YouTube.” He grins sheepishly, pocketing the phone.

“You’re Kurt Hummel, right? My name’s Blaine.” Kurt almost laughs as he returns Blaine’s handshake. Not just out of relief that he’s apparently not fired, but because there’s something funny-- and maybe a little bit charming-- about a man whose face Kurt saw smiling at him from three different magazine covers, two billboards and a bus just on his way to work this morning telling Kurt his name, as if Kurt might have forgotten it in the interim.

Blaine’s smile in real life is different. It’s genuine and warm; Kurt likes the way it makes his eyes crinkle up in the corners. “I’m looking forward to working with you. I saw you in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ last year.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You saw that?”

“You were really good.”

Kurt blinks. It’s not every day a Hollywood A-lister tells you they like your work. “I... thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you, too. I watch your show.”

Blaine raises a skeptical eyebrow and Kurt shrugs, meeting his gaze. “I’m kind of addicted to it.”

Blaine's laugh is wry, a low chuckle that tugs at the corners of Kurt's mouth until he's smiling, too. “Bad TV can have that effect. Sorry you lost your food.” Blaine steps gingerly over the mess and motions with his head for Kurt to walk with him. “C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch. I know this great sushi place, way better than whatever that was.”

“Okay,” Kurt breathes, heart rate climbing, but they only make it ten steps before Blaine stops, tugging at his coffee splattered shirt with a grimace. Kurt swallows a suggestion to take it off.

“Oh. First we better go get our lecture from wardrobe.”

Blaine reverses his direction and Kurt’s eyes track him for a moment, sighing at himself before he moves to follow. _Stop it_ , he thinks in the most authoritative inner voice he can muster. _Don’t be stupid_.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat to tip his face up to the sunlight. He feels like he’s been cooped up in the studio for a decade. Today is a welcome change of pace, shooting exterior scenes in Central Park, and he's determined to enjoy it.

Somebody collapses into the chair next to him and he grins in their general direction without bothering to open his eyes.

“Done with your adoring fans already?” he asks, uncrossing his legs to stretch them out in front of him. The answering laugh doesn’t belong to Blaine. Kurt opens his eyes with a start to see Allie, long curtain of bottle-blond hair hiding her face as she lounges in Blaine’s chair.

“Please, he’ll be over there flirting until somebody physically drags him away,” she says, eyes trained on Blaine and the growing number of fans congregating behind the security fences. Some of them look like they’re literally about to swoon.

“You’re coming out tonight, right?” Allie tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, rolling her eyes at Kurt’s blank look. “It’s Jim’s birthday.”

Kurt groans inwardly. It’s not really his thing, but... if he agrees in the hope that Blaine might be there, does that make him pathetic or merely sad?

“Sure,” he says, “sounds fun.”

Kurt hears laughter from the crowd in front of Blaine and wonders what he’s saying to charm them. He knows most celebrities have a public persona, but he can’t imagine Blaine being anyone other than himself. He’s probably telling them to believe in themselves and follow their dreams, or something equally adorable.

“I wonder if he ever takes any of them home,” Allie says with a speculative look in Blaine’s direction. Kurt smiles fixedly and doesn’t say anything. He’s glad when she wanders over to join Blaine at the fence, even happier when the director calls lunch.

By some unspoken mutual agreement, Kurt eats in Blaine’s trailer most days, because Blaine’s trailer is nicer than his and Blaine gets better food. Or at least, those are the reasons Kurt acknowledges to himself.

He stretches out on Blaine’s couch and spears another piece of chicken on his fork. “This is really good,” he says around his mouthful, glancing down to where Blaine is seated cross-legged on the floor beside him. “Where is this from?”

“Some Italian place,” Blaine shrugs, frowning down at his script. “I think it’s next to that steakhouse we keep ordering from.”

“Hmm.” Kurt digs his own script out from between the couch cushions. “You want to run the scene again?” They don’t need to; they’ve had it down since their first couple of read-throughs, but Kurt likes to feel like he’s working. That way he can tell himself that he’s being strictly professional about spending all of his free time on set with Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head absently. “Read this scene instead,” he says, still frowning as he hands over two pages of sides. Kurt glances over them and throws Blaine a questioning look.

“I’m not in this scene.”

“I know. Read Callan.” Blaine cranes his neck around to meet Kurt’s eyes. “Please? I’ve got this fight scene with Jim tomorrow. We went through it yesterday but it just... I don’t think I’m getting the intensity. Help me out?”

Kurt nods his assent and Blaine throws him a winning smile and stands, straightening into the ramrod ex-military posture of his character. Kurt can see the moment Blaine slips into a different headspace, his happy, easy-going nature disappearing behind the hard-eyed stare and tightly reined countenance of Thomas Beckenridge.

Busy watching Blaine, Kurt almost misses his cue. Belatedly remembering to read his first line, he forces himself to get his head in the game, throwing the line out cocky and antagonistic because he knows that’s how Jim will play it. Blaine’s hands clench into fists at his sides and his reply has venom behind it, brows knit together in tightly controlled fury.

Kurt stands, flipping his hand in a dismissive gesture as he turns his back, delivering his next line to the wall. There’s movement behind him and then Blaine is in his face, yelling, spitting out his lines with barely contained fury. He’s visibly holding back from throwing a punch, and Kurt wants to know what it would take to put him over. He shoves at Blaine’s chest just to see what will happen.

Blaine lunges, grabs a fistful of Kurt’s cardigan and twists, bringing their faces close enough together that Kurt can feel the warmth of breath on his cheek. They stare each other down for a moment, breathing shallow and rapid, and then Blaine smiles. He lets go, ending the scene, and Kurt huffs a laugh.

“I think you’re ready,” Kurt says with a grin, smoothing out his clothes and shaking the tension out of his shoulders. Blaine nods, still smiling, and manages to steal a piece of chicken from Kurt’s abandoned plate before a soft knock on the trailer door pulls their attention. Blaine pushes it open.

“You’re wanted back on set,” Jeannie tells him earnestly, because Jeannie does _everything_ earnestly. For a PA, she’s very serious about her job.

Blaine nods his acquiescence and throws her a lazy salute. “I’ll see you later,” he says to Kurt before bounding down the steps to follow Jeannie across the lot. Kurt resolutely doesn’t watch him leave.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Their third bar of the night has karaoke, which Blaine swears unconvincingly he didn’t know when he made the suggestion. Allie wants to stay,-- mostly, Kurt suspects, because Blaine does-- Emma left ages ago, and Jim’s too drunk to care where they are as long as there are plenty of girls for him to hit on, so Kurt is outvoted. He orders the strongest drink on offer and settles in for the torture, shooting Blaine a withering glare at regular intervals just so Blaine knows where he stands on the subject. He hates karaoke like he hates polyester.

It turns out to not be so bad, if he’s honest. Not that he’ll admit that to Blaine. They squish into a tiny booth in a dark corner where they’re less likely to be bothered and drink cocktails paid for by Blaine’s signature.

Still, it’s karaoke. There’s a tall, heavyset man on stage butchering The B52s when Kurt wanders up to take his revenge, filling Blaine’s name out on the slip along with the cheesiest decade old pop song he can find in the binder.

The place isn’t busy so he only has to wait through two songs and twelve people asking Blaine to sign their napkins, coasters, business cards, shopping receipts, and breasts before Blaine’s up.

“Next up, believe it or not, we have _the_ Blaine Anderson--”

Kurt looks over, grinning widely, only to find Blaine grinning right back as the host continues “...and Kurt Hummel, with that timeless karaoke classic, _Don’t You Want Me_ by Human League.”

That... is so not what Kurt wrote down. His eyes widen and the room erupts with noise, mostly cheers for Blaine, although he hears his own name in there a few times and wonders-- with the tiny corner of his brain not currently devoted to planning Blaine’s death-- who in this crowd is a Broadway fan.

“I hate you,” he groans as Blaine pulls him out of the booth by the wrist, “I hate you so much.” Blaine just laughs in his ear and pulls him up toward the stage.

“Hey, you started it. I just changed it a bit.”

The host hands them a microphone each with a grin and a wink at Kurt, whose best betrayed face earns him a laugh. Blaine takes the stairs to the stage two at a time, waving and making rockstar hands at the cheering crowd. Kurt really should have guessed this plan would backfire.

Blaine’s grinning when the song starts, eyes alight and singing right at Kurt, challenging him to match his enthusiasm. He’s like a five year old asking if his friend can come out to play.

Kurt watches him dancing stupidly just for the fun of doing it, onstage in front of all of these people with camera phones probably streaming directly to YouTube, and thinks _fuck it_. He jumps up and down and sings _'don’t you want me, baby?’_ at Blaine Anderson, grinning idiotically because Blaine Anderson is singing it right back at him.

They end up monopolizing the stage for the rest of the night, getting steadily drunker as people in the crowd buy them drinks, but nobody complains.

“Aaawww, can’t we stay?” Blaine whines when they stumble out of the emptying bar hours later, Allie and Jim long since gone home to bed. “I want to like, live here. Can we live here?” He veers sideways into Kurt and trips over his own feet, remaining upright thanks to the arm he throws over Kurt’s shoulders to catch himself.

Kurt laughs, marginally more sober but no less relaxed, and winds an arm around Blaine’s waist to steady him. “Sure,” he says, “we’ll go home and pack our things and move in tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes!” Blaine throws his arms in the air and they almost fall, but Kurt manages to keep them vertical and they make it to the cab with no further incident. “Right,” he says, opening the door, “in you go.”

“Noooo,” Blaine plants his feet and clings to Kurt’s neck, snuffling and nuzzling into his collar. “No, hey, let’s go to my house. You smell good.”

“I smell like tequila and karaoke,” Kurt scoffs as he pushes Blaine backwards into the back seat. He flails when Blaine gets a hold of his coat and pulls him in after, tangling their limbs together in a move Kurt would appreciate if the circumstances were different.

“Perfect,” Blaine breathes, and lifts his head to squint at the guy behind the wheel. “Driver, take us to my house,” he says loftily, and then ruins the affected air with a giggle as he fights Kurt’s attempts to extricate them. The cab driver looks unimpressed and Kurt shoots him an apologetic look when he finally gets free of Blaine’s grasping limbs.

He gives the driver Blaine’s home address and double the fare, closing the door on Blaine’s loud plea for Kurt to come home and watch infomercials with him.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt’s phone vibrates with the opening notes of _Happy Days Are Here Again_ on a side table in Blaine’s trailer, startling them both out of their study of the day’s script changes. The ringtone surprises him for more reasons than the sudden noise; he’s gotten pretty good at working out the time difference and Rachel is supposed to be backstage at the Apollo Victoria right now.

Sometimes Kurt finds it hard to believe that Rachel Berry gave up New York for London. Not that he wouldn’t have done the same; when Elton John personally asks you to originate the lead role in his new West End musical, “no” is never a viable option. Which begs the question, why is she calling him right before a show? He picks up the phone, gut tightening at the thought that something might be wrong.

“Rachel? What--”

“Are you sleeping with Blaine Anderson?”

His script narrowly misses Blaine’s head when it slides off Kurt’s lap to the floor, but Kurt doesn’t notice. He’s busy trying to look casual as he motions to Blaine that he’ll take this call outside.

“What?! Rachel what are you talking about?” He pulls the trailer door closed behind him and perches on the second step. “Why are you even calling me? What time is it there; don’t you have a show in twenty minutes?”

“Yes,” Rachel says, “but we’re not talking about me--”

“Well that would be a first.”

“--we’re talking about you and Blaine Anderson. Tell me everything.”

Kurt sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. I assume you’re asking because you saw the video--”

“Everyone saw the video, Kurt. It’s got like five trillion hits or something. I just saw it on Access Hollywood.”

Kurt resists the urge to hit himself in the head with his phone. “Great. That’s just great.”

“He was like, staring at you the whole time. I thought you were going to kiss at the end. You looked--”

“Drunk!” Kurt breaks in before she can really get going, then lowers his voice with a wince. “We looked drunk. We were drunk. Anything else you saw was just part of the performance. There’s nothing going on.”

Rachel lets a long dramatic silence express her disbelief, and Kurt groans in frustration. “There’s not!” He hisses, struggling not to raise his voice. Blaine is on the other side of the thin door at his back and he’d rather this conversation not be overheard. “Look, Rachel, I wish I was lying about this, okay, but there’s not-- we’re not-- he’s not.”

Rachel makes a sympathetic noise, which is better than the disbelieving silence but Kurt still doesn’t want her sympathy. He imagines her gossiping with Adam Garcia about her actor friend in the States who’s fallen for his famous costar, and Kurt’s irrationally mad at her for a second. He takes a deep breath and pushes it aside; it’s not Rachel’s fault he’s an idiot.

“He’s not what?” Rachel asks, because she never did know when to leave well enough alone. “Gay?”

Kurt doesn’t answer, but isn’t surprised when that doesn’t deter her.

“How do you know? He’s never had a girlfriend in the press that I’ve ever seen. And the way he was looking at you--”

No. Kurt cannot do this right now. Or ever. “Rachel, I have to go; I’m needed on set. And you have a show. Break legs, okay?”

If he sounds like he means that literally, he knows Rachel will forgive him his misdirected frustration. He hangs up without saying goodbye and goes back to his own trailer until they call him back to set.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Somewhere around their eighteenth ruined take of what should be a relatively simple scene, the director tells them to take five and try to get focused. Kurt collapses into his chair and exhales a long breath.

“You okay?” Blaine asks from behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You left pretty quick earlier.”

Blaine’s been doing that a lot lately, touching him for no reason, and Kurt’s struggling not to read anything into it. He knows how much it sucks when the things he makes up in his head don’t coincide with reality.

“I’m fine,” he says, pasting on a smile he’s sure Blaine can see is fake. “Just tired.”

Blaine nods but doesn’t let it drop. “You sure? I thought that phone call earlier might have been bad news or something.” The hand on his shoulder gives a reassuring squeeze. “You can talk to me if you want.”

 _Oh, how I wish I could_. Kurt tries to inject some sincerity into his voice. “I had a fight with a friend,” he lies, “but it’s fine; we worked it out. Are _you_ okay?”

Blaine drops into his chair with a groan. “I had a fight with my agent,” he says, slumping to rest his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt wonders not for the first time if Blaine is torturing him on purpose. Also his hair smells really good.

“Okay everyone,” the director starts waving them over, eager to get going. “We need to get this take before the light starts fading. You boys ready?”

They nod and stand in unison; Kurt sees Blaine trying to rub the tension out of his shoulders and wonders what he and his agent fought about that’s getting to him this much.

“Tell you what,” he says lightly, “next one to screw up a line has to sing _Henry The Eighth I Am_ to the E News reporters at the premiere.”

Blaine cracks a grin and holds his hand out for Kurt to shake. “You’re on,” he laughs, moving to his first mark with the air of someone going into battle.

They nail the scene, thankfully, so nobody has to sing. More importantly, they can both go home, wrapped for the week. Kurt lets out an audible groan of thanks to the universe at large and thinks about the five hour bath he’s going to take when he gets back to his apartment.

“Hey, Baby!”

They both turn to see Allie, and Kurt’s eyes narrow in confusion at the greeting until she leans in to kiss Blaine on the mouth, drawing a flustered laugh. Kurt's stomach sinks.

“C’mon,” Allie takes Blaine’s hand and gives it a playful tug. “You’re done for the day, right? Let’s go to your place. See you on Monday, Kurt.”

Blaine’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, resisting the pull on his arm. “See you Monday,” he says finally. “We should have Thai for lunch; I know this place that makes the best vegetable penang you’ve ever tasted.”

“Sure,” Kurt nods dumbly. “Sounds great.”

~*~*~*~


	3. : A Parade of Paper Faces

**~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Kurt keeps himself busy over the weekend. This isn’t his first rodeo; Blaine is just the latest in a long line of impossible crushes that date all the way back to his stepbrother in high school. By Monday, he’s almost managed to convince himself that he doesn’t care.

He puts his iPod on shuffle and settles in to watch Hot Props Guy run around with the rest of the crew, setting up for their first shot. Blaine is quiet next to him, picking at the label on a bottle of water and watching two grips set Camera One on dolly tracks.

Kurt adjusts the earbuds dangling from one ear and taps his fingers to the beat of classic Beyonce, alternating between appreciating Hot Props Guy’s work and watching the pile of shredded paper from Blaine’s water bottle growing at his feet.

“So you ready for today?” Blaine finally breaks the silence, eyes following the camera crane as it rises above their heads.

Kurt nods. The scene they’re shooting is complicated; one long, fast-paced take with a lot of extras, a lot of cameras, a lot of marks to hit and not much room for error if their timing isn’t perfect. Kurt is actually looking forward to it. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging, “it’s kind of what I’m used to, just on a bigger scale. You only get one take on the stage.”

Blaine nods but doesn’t say anything. Kurt thinks about asking him if he wants to run lines, but he sees Allie advancing on them in his peripheral vision and he just can’t. “Damn; I forgot I have to talk to Jim about... some script changes,” he lies.

He stands, backing away as Allie reaches them and settles herself onto Blaine’s lap. Kurt may be determined to get over this crush but that doesn’t mean he has to torture himself in the process.

His second step backward sends him stumbling into a props table, knocking a replica BlackBerry flying as he curses and flails to steady himself. Kurt doesn’t like the sound the phone makes when it hits the concrete pavement.

He returns it to the table, cringing at the large, obvious crack in its screen, and straightens to find Hot Props Guy scowling at him from a few feet away. He looks pissed, and Kurt is getting the distinct impression that today is not going to be a good day.

“I”m so sorry,” Kurt says, “I broke the screen. I didn’t--”

Hot Props Guy’s sudden laughter startles him. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, dropping the cranky principal act with a wink, and Kurt feels both relief that he’s not really in trouble and the urge to punch this guy in the face for making him think that he was.

Or, well. Maybe not the face.

“C’mon,” Hot Props Guy grins, motioning with his head for Kurt to follow him, “I might have another one of those in the trailer. No one ever has to know.”

The props trailers is more organised than Kurt would have imagined, dozens of clear plastic bins lined up along the walls, meticulously grouped and labeled. He reads the few closest to him-- BADGES, LANYARDS, CRIME SCENE TAPE-- while Hot Props Guy takes the cracked Blackberry and throws it in a bin at the end of the trailer.

In truth, Kurt’s not sure what he’s even doing here. Granted, he hasn’t been on many film sets, but he’s pretty sure actors aren’t usually asked to deal with prop replacements, even when they’re responsible for breaking them in the first place.

Hot Props Guy must pick up on his confusion, because he throws Kurt a smile as he pulls a heavy looking bin labeled CELL PHONES down from the top shelf. “You don’t actually have to be here, if you want to go” he says, “you just... out there, you looked like you wanted to be somewhere else.”.

Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise. He wonders with a touch of concern if he’s that transparent to everyone, or if Hot Props Guy is just weirdly observant. He hopes it’s the latter; the last thing he wants is everyone knowing about his feelings for Blaine.

“Yeah, no, I did... want to be somewhere else,” he finds himself admitting, thinking of Blaine out there making out with Allie. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” says Hot Props Guy easily, “I’m Josh.” His handshake is strong and warm, and Kurt notices a tattoo on his inner forearm, a pointy-eared guy with weird bone structure carrying a bow and arrow. “Josh Goodwin.”

“Kurt Hummel.”

“Good to meet you. I think I actually do have another one of those dummy BlackBerrys in here, want to help me find it?” He pulls the lid off the bin to reveal dozens of cell phones in a rainbow of colors and models.

“Sure.” Kurt shrugs. He starts digging through the bin from one end while Josh starts on the other, and Kurt finds himself staring in fascination at his tattoo.

“Is there a story behind that?” he asks, pointing to Josh’s arm when his curiosity gets the better of him.

Josh pauses in his digging, flipping his arm over to look at the tattoo as though he’s only just remembered it’s there. “Oh, yeah, kind of,” he smiles, digging through the bin again. Kurt sends him a curious look and his grin widens.

“When I broke up with my ex, one of my friends brought over three bottles of cheap whiskey and we played eighteen straight hours of World of Warcraft. Then we slept for like a day, drank more whiskey, and went out looking for food.” He chuckles, shaking his head a little. “My memory goes a bit hazy after that, but I woke up on my kitchen floor surrounded by McDonald's cheeseburger wrappers with this on my arm.”

Kurt grins, amused. “What a heartwarming tale."

“Right?! It’s kind of like _Harold and Kumar_ meets _The Hangover_.”

Kurt laughs and Josh joins in, shaking his head at himself. “Just for the record I’m not actually a drunken frat boy. That was out of character for me. I was... pretty broken up. We were together for five years.”

Kurt winces sympathetically. “Ouch. Are you still friends?”

“I don’t know,” Josh cocks his head, considering. “Do Facebook friends count?”

Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Not really.”

“Then no,” Josh laughs. “He moved to Germany, so...” he shrugs, ducking his head as he goes back to searching. They work in silence for another minute-- Josh’s choice of pronoun a stubborn echo in Kurt’s head-- until Kurt grabs at a phone near the bottom of the bin, holding it triumphantly over his head.

“Yes!” Josh holds his hand up for a high five and Kurt can’t help a giggle as he slaps their palms together. Maybe this is just the distraction he needs; someone fun and easy to flirt with. He tells Josh he has to go-- he was due back on set a few minutes ago-- but privately he thinks he’ll visit the props trailer again later, just to thank Josh for his help.

Josh calls his name as he’s leaving and Kurt turns, already smiling, to see him leaning in the door frame. “If you need to get away again...” Josh trails off, cocking his head.

“I’ll just break another phone,” Kurt grins, walking backward so he doesn’t miss the answering laugh.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Filming that day is a study in Murphy’s Law. For every take they get right, there’s at least two with something wrong: audio problems, a camera out of focus, someone forgetting their cue, boom mics dropping into frame, lighting issues, and in one memorable incident, an extra on a bicycle colliding with camera four. It’s not a productive morning.

It culminates with Blaine in the medic's van, holding ice to his twisted knee as the medic readies a compression bandage. Kurt climbs in next to him, passing him a bottle of water and a sympathetic look, and Blaine smiles his thanks as the medic removes the ice pack and starts on the bandage.

Kurt winces when Blaine does, his own muscles tensing in sympathy as he watches Blaine’s injured knee disappear behind layers of stretchy cotton bandaging. “Have you had anything for the pain?”

Blaine shrugs. “Just some ibuprofen. It’s not too bad now.” Kurt purses his lips against a smile and pretends not to notice when Blaine grimaces in obvious pain. “I’ve had worse,” he continues. “I broke two ribs filming _Velocity_ last summer.” He takes another purposefully casual swig of his water as the medic fastens the bandage with an elastic clip.

“All done. It doesn’t look too bad; you should still be able to work with it provided you don’t do any physically intensive scenes for a while. If you go easy on it as much as you can, it’ll be fully healed in a week or so. Try to stay off it for today and come see me tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I will.” Blaine nods his understanding and accepts Kurt’s proffered arm, leaning heavily on his shoulder as they shuffle out of the van.

“Only you,” Kurt teases as they set a slow pace in the direction of Blaine’s trailer, “would injure yourself blocking a scene. You didn’t have to go all out, Blaine, the cameras weren’t even rolling.”

Blaine laughs, elbowing Kurt in the ribs. “Shut up. I was in the moment. And that park bench came out of nowhere.”

“Uh-huh."

Blaine aims another elbow jab at his ribs, almost throwing them both off balance. “Hey, watch it!,” Kurt threatens with a laugh, “or you can find another leaning post to help you get your injured ass back to your trailer in one piece.”

“Oh, my ass is fine, it’s just my knee that’s injured,” Blaine deadpans, letting Kurt take even more of his weight. Kurt does a pretty good job, considering, of pulling his thoughts back from where they want to go and throws Blaine a _look_ instead, one that has Blaine throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, thank you for your kind and gracious assistance. I’ll make it up to you with lu-- oh crap.“

“What?” They make it to the trailer and Kurt takes the keys, unlocking the door and standing on the top step to help Blaine haul himself up on his one good leg.

“I forgot to tell Jeannie to pick up the Thai.”

“So much for the world’s best Panang,” Kurt laughs. “I’ll go grab us something from catering.”

He turns and almost falls out of the door when it’s thrown open from the other side. Allie bounds up the steps holding two polystyrene takeout boxes and a bottle of blue Gatorade. Kurt’s heart sinks; for a minute there, he’d forgotten. Schooling his features, he moves out of the way to let her inside.

“Hey guys!” She smiles broadly and sets the boxes down on Blaine’s table, lowering herself into the seat beside Blaine’s. “I was just about to come look for you, baby; are you okay? I heard you got hurt.” She reaches up to run her fingers through the curls above Blaine’s ear and Kurt grits his teeth, wondering if it’s okay for him to leave, if they’d think his abrupt departure was rude, if they’d even notice.

“I’m fine!” Blaine answers, ducking away from her hand to reach for the containers of food. “Starved, though.”

Allie laughs, tucking a long strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Well I brought you some Cajun chicken.” She turns to where Kurt is still standing awkwardly by the door. “Sorry Kurt, I didn’t know you were here, or I would’ve grabbed some for you too.”

Kurt forces his mouth into a smile, thankful, at least, for the out. “It’s fine,” he says with false cheer, “now you’re here you can see to the invalid and I’m free to go. See you guys later.”

“No, hey, where are you going?” Blaine shakes his head, catching Kurt’s wrist as he reaches for the door. “Stay. We can--”

“I’ve got stuff to do anyway,” Kurt says lamely. “I’ll see you later for the reshoots. Enjoy your lunch.”

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Kurt considers eating in the catering tent, where the usual mix of extras and crew members are grouped around white plastic tables and chairs, but he’s not much in the mood for conversation. He grabs a container of noodle salad to take back to his trailer and wonders if anyone has noticed that he hasn’t eaten with the crew since his first day of filming.

There's a note stuck to Kurt's trailer door when he gets there, small neat block letters in black felt pen: HAVE DINNER WITH ME TONIGHT? It isn't signed, but Kurt knows who it's from, even without the tiny sketch of a BlackBerry drawn in lieu of a signature.

He pulls it off the door and takes it inside with him, depositing his food on the table before he falls back onto the couch with the note still in his hand.

The thing is, Josh seems pretty great. Smart and funny and cute. And, maybe most importantly, actually gay.

But he’s also not Blaine. Kurt’s not sure if it’s fair, going on a date with somebody when you’re this hung up on someone else.

But then, maybe ‘not Blaine’ is exactly what he needs. Maybe _not_ going on a date with somebody because you’re hung up on someone else is stupid when the someone else is never going to be an option. Maybe he’s over-thinking it.

Kurt sits up, grabbing a pen from the end table. He's damned if he's spending the rest of his time on this set pining over his straight costar like a twelve year old girl. He writes his number on the back of the note and leaves without eating his salad. He’s not hungry anyway.

Josh is nowhere to be found when he gets to the props trailer, so he sticks the note to the door with the tape already on it and wanders back the way he came. A couple of extras wave to him and he waves back with a genuine smile, because he’s starting to realize how unfriendly he probably seems to everyone else on this movie. He’s been so busy hanging out with Blaine and sulking over Blaine and trying to get over Blaine that he’s forgotten that other people exist.

He’s passing Blaine’s trailer when the door opens and Allie appears, frowning in a way that brings the phrase ‘trouble in paradise’ to mind. She storms off in the other direction without saying anything, and Kurt’s on the top step with his hand poised to knock before he even consciously thinks about it.

He stops. This is the kind of thing he needs to not do anymore, treating Blaine like a best friend instead of a colleague. His friendship with Blaine is temporary at best; this movie will end and they’ll all go their separate ways. It’s the way these things work. Blaine will be fine, Blaine and Allie will most likely be fine, and whether they are or not is none of Kurt’s business. He’s done. He’s getting over Blaine Anderson. He even has a date tonight to prove it.

Back in his trailer, he wolfs down half of the noodle salad and is considering getting up to make himself a cup of coffee when he gets a text from an unknown number: ‘so that’s a yes?’ He grins, storing the number in his phone.

‘That’s a yes. What time?’

He gets a reply almost immediately. ‘8? Can I pick you up?’

Smiling, he texts Josh his address and heads back to set.

Things between Blaine and Allie must not be too bad, because Blaine is as cheerful as ever, teasing Kurt when he stumbles over a line and cursing through his laughter when he follows that by screwing up his own coverage five takes in a row. When the light begins to fade and the director starts getting antsy, they reinstate their _Henry the Eighth_ bet and nail every take until wrap is called for the day, because neither of them wants to lose.

By the time he makes it home he doesn’t have as much time as he’d like to get ready, but he’s reasonably satisfied with his reflection in the mirror when Josh rings the buzzer at nine. His opinion is validated by a long look and a low whistle that makes Kurt grin self-consciously. Josh isn’t looking so bad himself, and Kurt doesn’t bother to hide an admiring glance or two as they walk the few blocks to Josh’s favorite restaurant. Kurt’s already glad that he decided to do this.

“I hope you like Thai,” Josh says as they’re seated, “I probably should have asked you that before, sorry.” Kurt assures him that the restaurant is fine, and only thinks about Blaine a little as he digs into his vegetable panang.

It’s a good date. Josh tells entertaining stories about other films he’s worked on and actors he’s worked with, rebelliously ignoring-- Josh’s words-- his boss’s strict no gossip policy ‘for the sake of being interesting’. He makes Kurt laugh, and seems to genuinely want to get to know him. The conversation is easy, the wine is excellent, and after Josh kisses him goodnight at his door, slow and soft and a little bit less chaste than it could be, Kurt finds himself looking forward to work tomorrow.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

“Oh, well now you’re just milking it,” Kurt teases when he arrives on set to find Blaine using his chair as a foot stool. Blaine’s answering grin makes his stomach do that weird flip thing it does sometimes, but Kurt ignores it. His stomach and its butterflies will just have to get with the new program, and Kurt’s willing to wait for that to happen.

The ‘new program’ happens to be across the set, keeping track of the props used by the set decorators on an old-fashioned clipboard. Kurt waves off Blaine’s attempts to move off his chair and heads in that direction.

“You know technology has moved forward since the days of the clipboard, right?”

“Don’t even be knocking my clipboard,” Josh chuckles, smiling in a way that makes his eyes squint adorably. He turns back to the set dressers, throwing Kurt a sideways glance as he logs an expensive looking crystal decanter on his form.

“I had a really good time last night,” he says, taking a step into Kurt’s space, too close to be casual. “I hope we can do it again?”

Kurt nods silently, losing both his words and his breath for a moment. He’s had boyfriends before-- not many, but a couple-- and he should probably be over the novelty of this, this revelation that people-- guys, even hot guys like Josh-- might like him, even _want_ him. The thought that someone like Josh finds him attractive still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Kurt doesn’t get to say anything after that because they’re calling the actors to places, ready to start filming the first of the day’s interior shots. Josh runs a hand lightly down his arm as he goes and Kurt smiles at him over his shoulder.

He sees Blaine walk away from Allie in the middle of what looks to be an intense conversation and wonders for a second what’s going on there, but he forces it out of his mind. It’s none of his business. And he doesn’t care.

Blaine, on the other hand, obviously cares. He’s off his game the entire morning, needing more takes than usual to get his scenes down and scowling whenever the camera isn’t on him. It’s starting to piss Kurt off. It’s a bitch trying to act with someone who’s not giving anything back, and he doesn’t see why he has to suffer just because Blaine is fighting with his stupid girlfriend.

The director calls a break while they reset the lighting and Kurt turns to ask Blaine what’s wrong, but Blaine is already hurrying off in the direction of his trailer as fast as his injured knee will allow. Kurt thinks about going after him, calling him out on his attitude, but Josh is waving him over and besides, Blaine obviously doesn’t want to talk.

Whatever. Blaine’s girlfriend troubles are not Kurt’s problem.

They call the actors back ten minutes later but Josh holds him up another minute, stepping into Kurt’s personal space to fix the hideous tie wardrobe forced on him this morning. The corners of Josh’s mouth turn up in a soft smile and he leans close enough to share breath for a moment before he steps away, dropping his hand only at the very last second and refusing to drop his gaze. As far as moves go, it’s pretty effective. Or at least, it is until Blaine limps past and kills the moment.

“Can we just get this done please?” The break evidently hasn’t improved his mood.

Kurt’s eyes narrow with annoyance as he follows Blaine onto the wood panelled office set where they’ll be shooting the rest of the day’s scenes, if he doesn’t get himself fired for kicking the star of the movie in the shins.

Or maybe he'll aim for the knee. That’ll definitely hurt more.

Blaine glowers while someone fusses with his hair and Kurt fights the urge to say something about spoiled celebrity brats. “Look,” he starts quietly, because as irritated as he is, he doesn’t want to read about this in Entertainment Weekly tomorrow. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Allie, but--”

“Nothing,” Blaine snaps, “nothing is going on with me and Allie.” He turns away, but not before Kurt hears him mutter something about “props” and “all over each other” and “sickening”, and the bottom falls out of his stomach.

“You have a problem with me and Josh?” Kurt means for there to be heat behind the words, but mostly he just sounds stunned. He stares, blinking in disbelief as he tries to reorient himself to this new piece of information. Kurt’s usually pretty good at picking out the people to avoid in any group, but Blaine wasn’t even a blip on his homophobe radar.

“What?” Blaine’s eyes widen and he shakes his head rapidly enough to draw a scowl from the woman fixing his hair. “No. That’s not-- of course I don’t--”

“Okay, quiet on set!” the director calls, but Blaine waves him off.

“I need a minute,” he calls over his shoulder. Kurt’s not sure whether it’s the urgency in Blaine’s voice or just one of the perks of being a movie star, but nobody argues. Blaine lets out a breath and turns to regard Kurt seriously. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, voice quiet and earnest. “You have to know that’s not... I don’t have a problem. With you and Josh. I’m just having a bad day and I took it out on you; I’m sorry.”

Kurt nods dumbly, still reeling. “Let’s just... get back to work,” he says. They have a job to do, and Kurt can’t deal with this right now. “We’re all tired and we just...” he pauses to swallow the lump in his throat. “Let’s just work, okay?”

Blaine still looks stricken, but he follows Kurt’s lead, finding his mark and motioning to the director that they’re ready to start.

 

~*~*~*~


	4. : A Parade of Paper Faces

**~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It becomes the proverbial elephant in the room; everybody notices that Kurt and Blaine barely speak anymore, but no one says anything about it. They’re polite between scenes or when they pass each other on the way to the catering tent, but it’s awkward and stilted, the easy rapport between them gone. Kurt’s counting down the days until he’s done shooting this movie.

Josh proves to be an invaluable distraction in that regard. It’s amazing what an hour of making out in Kurt’s trailer over lunch can do for his mood, even if it irritates the hell out of hair and makeup.

Kurt settles into this new routine-- film, hang out with Josh, film some more, go home-- and he gets used to working with the heavy tension that settles between himself and Blaine, learns to channel it into his work.

They’re back on location for the last week of principle photography, all the exterior running shots having been pushed back to accommodate Blaine’s injury. Kurt hardly sees his co-stars, now. Jim and Emma have finished already, Blaine and Allie go back to chatting with fans through the wire security fences between scenes, and Kurt spends almost all of his free time with Josh. It’s an arrangement that helps to alleviate the still palpable strain between he and Blaine, ensuring that they only have to interact when the director calls action.

They spend their last day filming pick up shots in Central Park. Final wrap is called at four in the afternoon, and the cheers and applause from the cast and crew are almost secondary to Kurt's own sigh of relief. The director and two of the producers give speeches that he doesn’t listen to, and then it's back to his trailer to pick up his things for the last time. It’s been an experience, he’ll say that, but Kurt’s glad to be done.

“Kurt.”

Damn it. Kurt had been hoping to avoid this conversation. The ‘hey it was great working with you here’s my number let’s stay in touch’ conversation that Kurt is ready to have with anyone but Blaine. Though, in this case it's probably more of a 'let's part on good terms and not be awkward on the promo tour' thing.

“Wait. Please,” Blaine says. “I don’t want us to... can we please just be friends again?”

Kurt suppresses a sigh. “Sure,” he says brightly, “here; let me give you my number.” He holds his hand out for Blaine’s phone but Blaine doesn’t take the cue.

“No, Kurt, that’s not what I...” he shakes his head, frustrated. “I mean I want us to be friends. Real friends; not promo tour buddies. I want...” he sighs, trailing off. Kurt just stares silently, trying to switch gears between the conversation he thought they were having and the one they are.

“We live in the same city,” Blaine continues when Kurt doesn’t say anything. “We like a lot of the same things. I just think... I know we’ve had our differences lately but I really want to be your friend. If you’ll let me.”

Kurt sighs inwardly. Spending more time with Blaine isn't an unappealing prospect, it's just that the last few weeks have been a whole truckload of awkward and difficult; he’s not sure he’s masochistic enough to drag that out indefinitely.

“Not that I don’t want to be your friend, Blaine, but... why?” Kurt’s genuinely curious. “You have plenty of friends. Why do you need me?” _Why do you want to torture me like this?_

Blaine just stands there staring at him and Kurt clenches his fists in frustration. “Look, I have to go, I have to--”

Blaine steps forward, into his personal space, close enough that the tips of their shoes touch. “Don’t,” he says, “don’t go yet, don’t...” his eyes flick to Kurt’s mouth and back up. “Don’t...”

Kurt stops breathing. It feels like he hasn’t breathed properly in days-- _weeks_ \-- when Blaine finally starts to tilt his head up, eyes fluttering closed. And then, because this is Kurt’s life, his phone rings.

Blaine starts, stumbling backward, eyes wide and afraid. He’s gone before Kurt can get a word in, the horrified expression on his face a lingering afterimage on the back of Kurt’s eyelids.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

The first thing Kurt notices when he walks into Providence is the exquisite crystal chandelier hanging from the center of a 30-foot high cathedral ceiling. The place is gorgeous.

The second thing to catch his eye-- even before the beautiful hardwood timber flooring and complementary earth tone palette-- is Blaine, kicking back in an elegant antique-style armchair with Allie in his lap and his tongue down her throat.

For a second he considers going over there to interrupt, just to spite them. Because as confused as he is about what happened-- or almost happened-- this afternoon, Blaine seems to have put the whole thing out of his mind, and that’s infuriating.

Kurt wants to know what the hell that _was_. He wants to know what would have happened if Rachel didn't have the worst timing in the history of telephone calls, what Blaine almost kissing him means, if it even means anything, if Blaine has done that before, if he still wants to do that with Kurt, if he’s thought about it, how much he’s thought about it. He has a lot of unanswered questions.

Blaine, with his hand inching higher on Allie’s thigh, evidently does not share the same concern.

Kurt takes a deep breath and lets it go, for now. He may have a lot of questions but the wrap party is not the best place to bring them up. He weaves through candlelit tables in the direction of the bar, fingers tapping to the faint thump of club music filtering from the Triumph Room downstairs.

Josh finds him there after twenty minutes, stroking a hand down the length of his spine in a greeting that Kurt inexplicably wants to pull away from. He smiles instead, motioning for the bartender as Josh drops onto the stool next to him.

“Hey,” Kurt says, “did you get everything packed up and squared away?”

“I did,” Josh smiles, brow furrowing as he follows Kurt’s line of sight to where Blaine and Allie have started to untangle themselves. “Do you want to go downstairs?”

Kurt shrugs noncommittally. He’s not in the mood for dancing. “Maybe in a bit?” he says, taking a long sip of his Vodka Greyhound. “Tell me about what you’re doing after this. What set are you on next?”

Kurt tries to look interested, he really does, but he catches Blaine in his peripheral vision and his eyes move of their own accord, tracking him to the stairs and up toward the VIP room.

Josh sighs. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work out, is it?” There’s a faint note of exasperation in his voice, but mostly he just sounds resigned.

Kurt is struck suddenly by the depth of his own stupidity. His last few weeks on set have been spent almost entirely in Josh’s presence, but it’s only now, just this second, that Kurt is realizing how wonderful Josh is, how amazing it would be to fall in love with him, and how much it sucks that Kurt is never going to do that.

“I--” Kurt blinks, thrown off guard. What can he say? _It’s not you, it’s me?_ No.

“I’m sorry,” he finally murmurs, ducking his head at Josh’s sad grimace. He _is_ sorry. He’s been an asshole; Josh deserves more than to be somebody’s distraction. “I’m-- I never meant-- I’m _sorry_.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Kurt rests his elbows on the bar and lowers his head to study the marble while he waits for Josh to get up and leave, but to his surprise Josh doesn’t move. Kurt wonders what the protocol is here, if maybe _he_ should be the one to leave.

“Okay,” Josh says before Kurt can make a decision, and Kurt raises his head to look at him. “I’m going to tell you something that could get my ass fired if my boss finds out I told you.”

Kurt remembers Josh on that first date, touting his rebel status for breaking his boss’s ‘no gossiping’ rule. His eyes widen at the idea that Josh is still here, still talking to him, looking at him like a friend and not someone who used him and led him on. Not that he isn’t glad, he just doesn’t get why.

“Hey, come on,” Josh says, tapping him under the chin, “stop with the guilty puppy shit. It’s not like we were engaged.” Kurt raises his head and Josh flashes him a grin. “I like you, Kurt, and I’m disappointed I didn’t make a move before Eyebrows over there got to you, but I promise I’ll get over it.”

Kurt tilts his head speculatively. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”

“Kinda,” Josh shrugs.

“For how long?”

“Since around the time you broke that phone?”

Kurt’s not sure whether he wants to smile or frown.

“Yeah, well.” Josh motions for the bartender to bring him another rum and coke. “I knew before I asked you out; I just figured I might try and change your mind.” He shrugs again. “I was sort of prepared for it not to work, so.”

Kurt sighs. “I’m still sorry.”

“I know.” Josh raises his drink in the air. “To fun while it lasted,” he says as Kurt clinks their glasses together. “It’s been a good shoot.”

“It has,” Kurt agrees, bringing his glass to his lips and drinking deeply. He feels lighter somehow. “So are you going to tell me about this big secret that could get you fired?”

Josh nods, glancing behind him to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop. “Yeah, okay." His voice drops to a low murmur. "I don’t think your boy and his girl are exactly the Hollywood golden couple they’re trying to present for the gossip rags."

Kurt straightens, setting his drink down on the bar.

"I overheard him on the phone with his agent a while back. He didn’t sound too happy about having to to take her out. I got the impression the whole loved up couple routine is a publicity thing.” He pauses, drink halfway to his mouth, to give Kurt a significant look. “Or a cover.”

Kurt flashes back to the day he first found out about Blaine and Allie. _I had a fight with my agent_ , Blaine had said. And then Allie had shown up. Kurt’s eyebrows climb almost to his hairline as everything falls into place in his head.

Holy shit.

Josh’s low chuckle shakes him out of his thoughts. “And with that little revelation,” Josh says as he pulls out a twenty and leaves it on the bar, “I’m out of here. Good luck with everything. I’ll keep an eye out for you and Anderson on _Entertainment Tonight_.” He drops a lingering kiss to Kurt’s mouth before he goes.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt finds Allie drinking at a table on her own. As it turns out, she isn’t particularly good at the subterfuge thing; a bit of careful prodding and some feigned sympathy have her spilling the entire story by the third Midori Splice.

“It’s his agent,” she says over the rim of her glass. “After that night we went out, people were asking questions Jason didn’t want asked.” She takes a long drink, eyeing the room to make sure they’re still alone.

“Blaine was out in high school, so like, probably wouldn’t take that much digging if someone really wanted to out him, you know?” She tilts forward, elbows resting on the white linen tablecloth. “That’s like, his worst nightmare. Jason’s got him convinced being gay means he can’t be an actor or whatever. Not A-list. He says if Blaine comes out he’ll drop him.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows in bewilderment. “How is that even a threat? He’s Blaine Anderson; it’s not like he couldn’t get another agent.”

“I know, right?” Allie shakes her head. “That’s what I said, but apparently this guy’s been with him since the beginning, got him his first break. Blaine feels like he owes him or something. I don’t know. It’s fucked up.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes when a group of people Kurt doesn't recognize wander near their table. “So his agent set you up?” Kurt asks when they finally move on.

“Yeah.” She looks at Kurt earnestly. “I didn’t do it for the money. I really like him. He's smart and funny and just... well. You know. He's Blaine.”

She sighs, toying with her glass. “I guess I thought if I could just show him how good we’d be together maybe he’d give us a chance, you know?” She shrugs. “Pretty dumb. Now he hates me.”

Kurt shakes his head gently, no longer feigning his sympathy. He’s been there, more than once, chasing someone who isn’t inclined to return his feelings. It sucks.

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. He’s just frustrated.” He leans forward to hold her gaze in the low light. “You could try being his friend,” he says, not unkindly, “instead of being in league with his agent. I’m sure Blaine would appreciate having you on his side.”

Allie nods, looking down at her glass for a moment. “I got between you guys on purpose,” she admits quietly, “that was part of the job. My instructions were to make it look real, and to keep him away from you.”

Kurt blinks. So that’s why Allie started following Blaine around, showing up on set even when she didn’t have to be there, never leaving them alone together. Blaine’s agent sees Kurt as a threat. Interesting.

"And also," she continues, "I'm not telling you all of this because you came over here and started buying me drinks and interrogating me. So like, don't go away thinking you're all clever and shit."

Kurt starts, taken aback, and Allie gives him a satisfied grin.

“Okay,” he says finally, when curiosity gets the better of him, “why are you telling me then?”

“Because I’m better than this,” she says simply. “And I deserve better. And because Blaine’s a good guy. I want him to be happy. And he really likes you. You like him, right?”

Kurt’s breath gives a little hitch and he nods, giving her a wry smile. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“All the horrible names I’ve been calling you in my head.”

Allie laughs, finishing off the rest of her drink in one gulp. “I forgive you,” she says, standing to give him a hug. “You should go find him.”

She moves off in the direction of the bar and Kurt watches her until she’s out of sight before he gets up to follow her advice.

The Madeira Suite upstairs is VIP only; Kurt is quietly relieved when nobody stops him from going in. Blaine is sitting with a group of people in a cosy chandelier-lit alcove, but he stands abruptly when Kurt catches his eye. His face reminds Kurt of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck when he mutters something to his friends and makes his way over to the room’s long mahogany bar.

“Two Vodka Greyhounds, please." Blaine either doesn't notice or purposely ignores Kurt’s eyebrow raise. They've only been out once, but Blaine apparently remembers his drink.

He eyes Kurt warily as the bartender shuffles off down the other end of the bar. “I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he murmurs, voice low and serious. "I got a bit carried away.”

Kurt waves off the apology with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry my phone rang, to be honest.” Nervous butterflies flutter uncomfortably in his stomach, but if Kurt’s doing this he may as well jump in with both feet.

He sees Blaine open his mouth to speak, but Kurt cuts him off before he can start. “I know about you and Allie, by the way.” Blaine freezes deathly still, not even breathing. “Don’t worry, your secret’s still safe. She didn’t tell me. I figured it out after you... after this afternoon.”

Kurt hates lying, but it’s a lie worth telling. To protect Josh, and Allie.

Blaine sucks in a breath and his eyes go wide, fingers clenching around his glass in a white knuckled grip. “Look, Kurt...” he trails off, staring somewhere over Kurt's left shoulder. He looks terrified.

Kurt glances down at his drink and doesn’t say anything, letting Blaine have a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Let me be really clear about something,” Blaine says finally, and Kurt’s already figured out where this is going but he still feels the disappointed lurch in his gut when Blaine continues, “I really, really care about you,” because isn’t _that_ the cliched beginning to every easy let down since the beginning of time.

“And it’s not th-that I don’t want...,” Blaine stutters, clearly struggling, “I just. I can’t, Kurt. It would mean...” His voice drops almost to a whisper. “I’d have to come out. And that’s not something I'm ready to do. I’ve worked too hard to get here to throw it all away now. Maybe... maybe one day things will be different, but for now...”

The worst part is that Kurt can’t even argue with his logic. It _would_ mean coming out, in one way or another. Neither of them would be happy in a relationship they had to hide, and eventually it would get out. These things always did.

“What I said about being your friend, though.” Blaine looks at him hopefully. “I meant that. I’d really like to. If you want.”

Kurt swallows a lump in his throat and pastes on a smile, because he’d rather have Blaine this way than not at all. “So it’s like _When Harry Met Sally_ ,” he jokes weakly, forcing his smile to widen.

“Only if I get to be Meg Ryan,” Blaine says in a rush, relief evident in his tone.

Kurt doesn’t even have to fake his outraged laugh. That’s the thing about being around Blaine; it’s easy, even when it’s not. “Yeah, no.” He says firmly, shaking his head for emphasis. “You’re gonna have to fight me on that.”

Blaine heaves a melodramatic sigh. “Fine,” he says, letting his shoulders slump. “I’ll give you Meg Ryan.”

Something in Blaine’s eyes-- fondness, longing, regret-- threatens to break Kurt to pieces, so he turns away. “Come on then, Billy Crystal. Buy me another drink.”

 

~*~*~*~


	5. : A Parade of Paper Faces

**~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Being friends with Blaine turns out to be kind of amazing, if he ignores all the ways it hurts. They _get_ each other. There’s a level of trust and honesty that Kurt’s never had with anyone, except maybe his dad.

It helps that Blaine is like an all access pass to the city; they get into all the best clubs and restaurants, never have to wait in line, and rarely have to pay for anything.

Blaine is still keeping up the girlfriend pretense, but Kurt doesn't mind. Actually, he rather likes being around Allie now that he’s stopped being jealous of her. She's fun-loving and sarcastic and smarter than anyone gives her credit for.

Not that they spend a lot of time together; Allie has a habit of making herself scarce whenever the three of them go out. Blaine doesn’t seem to care; as long as the paps get pictures of them arriving and leaving together it doesn’t matter what he does in the meantime. The ‘whirlwind romance’ of Blaine and Allie is everyone’s favorite headline.

It’s a weirdly complicated dance, keeping a secret where there technically isn’t one to keep. They’re not dating; they really _are_ just friends, but sometimes it feels like they’re hiding the truth about their own relationship as well as Blaine and Allie’s non-existent love affair.

Still, they start to relax a little as time wears on. Blaine somehow gets two tickets to the sold-out Broadway revival of RENT, and even though he’s hesitant to go anywhere public without Allie as a buffer for the cameras, they do it anyway. They’re ushered in through a side door after the house lights go down and sneak back out the same door while the actors take their final curtain call.

They’re careful to take separate cars and keep a respectable distance between them the whole night, but it still feels like a date.

Mostly, though, they hang out in Blaine’s oversized Manhattan apartment eating takeout and watching bad reality television. It should be weird-- and it is, sometimes, when they accidentally shift too close on the couch and their arms brush together, when Blaine’s eyes go soft and fond and he stares a little too long, when Kurt sees himself out at the end of the night because saying goodbye at the door is awkward-- but for the most part it’s nice.

The problem is that it's driving Kurt crazy, this exhausting tightrope walker’s dance of _Just Friends_. Sometimes he feels like Blaine is under his skin, an itch he can’t scratch.

It doesn’t get any better once the promotional tour starts and they’re back to spending most of their days together. Sharing a hotel means Blaine starts bringing him coffee in the mornings, and more often than not they share dinner as well, commiserating over the long, repetitive hours answering the same boring questions over and over and over.

Sometimes Blaine brings a DVD with dinner, and in three different cities now they’ve woken in the middle of the night, curled up together with the title screen playing in the background. They untangle their limbs and say goodnight without looking at each other, Blaine slinking back to his own room while Kurt steals his pillow and dreams about all the things he would do to and for and with Blaine if he were allowed. Somewhere deep down, they both know something’s got to give.

They get a little time off in California, wind up in a little cafe in Santa Monica, slouched around a table in the best coffee shop in the country according to Blaine. It’s busy but not crowded, clean and elegantly decorated, cerulean accents setting off the dark wood and marble. Kurt instantly likes it for the enormous antique clock taking up one wall that makes it seem like time has literally stopped moving. He pulls in a long breath through his nose, savoring the rich, earthy smell of good coffee beans.

They did _Good Day LA_ this morning and they’re set to tape _Ellen_ in the afternoon, but for now they have a few hours to kill and Kurt’s quite happy to spend it here, sitting across from Blaine and Allie with no questions to answer beyond “what can I get for you today?”

“I swear,” Allie mutters into her cappuccino, “if I get asked one more time what it was like to film the fucking love scene I’m going to punch someone in the face.”

Blaine snorts, dunking a piece of almond biscotti into his coffee. “We still have two weeks of this; your hand will get sore.”

Kurt opens his mouth to extol the merits of a good kick in the shins versus ruining her nails, but a tap on his shoulder cuts him off. He turns, smiling reflexively, and almost drops his mug; he’d been expecting someone wanting their autographs.

“Kurt Hummel,” Mike Chang grins warmly, “long time no see.” Kurt’s mouth falls open and he stands, accepting Mike’s brief, one-armed hug. “Well, in person, anyway. I saw you on TV this morning.” Mike chuckles at Kurt’s exaggerated cringe.

“Ugh; I was barely awake for that. I don’t even remember anything I said.” He retakes his seat, motioning for Mike to join them. “This is Blaine Anderson and Allison Carter. Guys, this is Mike Chang, we were in high school together.”

Mike shakes their hands with a laugh. “Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, smiling at Allie, “my girlfriend was obsessed with your show.” He turns to look at Blaine. “We’ve never met, but I helped choreograph some of the numbers for your _Dance With Me_ video.”

Blaine’s eyebrows raise and his smile turns warm and genuine. “That’s amazing; I loved that video. You guys did a great job.”

Mike nods his thanks, looking pleased as he turns back to Kurt. “So you’re a movie star now, huh? Long way from Lima.”

“So’s L.A.,” Kurt shrugs, but they share a private smile. They got out. Kurt made it to Broadway and the big screen and he knows from Facebook that Mike’s dance studio is highly respected in L.A. They got out, they’re both doing what they love, and they know how lucky that makes them.

“Wait, hold on,” Blaine breaks the moment, holding up a finger for emphasis, staring wide-eyed at Kurt. “You grew up in Lima? Lima, _Ohio_?”

Kurt nods, taking a sip of coffee to hide his smile. He knows where this is going, but no good can come of telling Blaine how many times Kurt has read his Wikipedia page.

“I lived in Westerville,” Blaine exclaims, and Kurt schools his face into a surprised expression. “Which high school did you go to?”

“McKinley,” Kurt and Mike answer in unison, sharing a look. _Otherwise known as hell on earth_ , Kurt thinks privately.

Blaine sets his coffee down. “I went to Dalton. Were you in Show Choir?” Kurt nods and Blaine cocks his head, thinking. “I think our Glee clubs competed."

"Maybe," Kurt shrugs, deliberately casual. "I don't really rememb--"

"My first year as lead soloist,” Blaine interjects with a grin. “We beat you at Regionals. I was a Warbler.” He throws Kurt a triumphant smirk.

Kurt rolls his eyes. Of course Blaine would remember that.

"A warbler?" Mike furrows his brow, trying to remember.

“Puck used to call them the Garglers,” Kurt reminds him, just to watch Blaine choke on his coffee.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

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Mike’s roommate’s name is Andrew and he’s turning twenty-five, Mike tells them, even if the sparkly pink Disney princess party hat suggests otherwise. Kurt’s not sure what they’re doing here, really; it’s not like they know anyone, but Mike invited them and they’ve got a late start tomorrow, so why not?

The house is large and open, whitewashed walls and dark timber flooring, an old style brick fireplace in the living room and huge floor to ceiling windows. Kurt imagines it would be bright and airy during the day, can see Mike living here, dancing in the open spaces.

The room is packed with people, a lot of them dancers from what Kurt can tell. He watches with interest as one of the guys on the makeshift dance floor sweeps Andrew up onto his shoulder; he shrieks in surprise and then moves into the lift, falling into a graceful fish dive before he’s set back on his feet to the sound of laughter and applause.

Kurt is suddenly glad that he’s here. It beats wallowing alone in his hotel room, or worse, sharing a bed with Blaine, within arms reach and still completely untouchable. Hanging out with some other people might be exactly what he needs to recharge his emotional batteries.

The discussion at _Espresso Cielo_ had been long, spanning three cups of coffee each-- four for Allie, who Kurt realized only after the fact was mostly left out of the conversation-- as they traded stories back and forth about high school and glee club and Ohio in general. Kurt had noted with interest the pride in Blaine’s voice when he talked about the Warblers, how they’d won nationals the year they beat New Directions, the year Vocal Adrenaline had famously crashed and burned.

Blaine had told the story with such fond reminiscence that Kurt couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy. He wonders, not for the first time, if things might have been different for him if he’d met Blaine then, if having Blaine in his life might have helped, somehow.

Kurt’s shaken out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of Blaine at his side, leaning casually into him and throwing an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. Blaine has been at the centre of a group of fawning fans and admirers since they arrived, most of them hitting on him unashamedly even with Allie standing right there; this is the first Kurt has seen of him since they walked through the door.

“Dance with me!” Blaine shouts drunkenly over the throbbing baseline of Gaga’s latest.

Kurt shakes his head, inching out from under Blaine’s arm. There are a lot of people here with camera phones. “You don’t want to do that.” He keeps his voice low, speaking into Blaine’s ear.

“I do!” Blaine shouts, sticking his lower lip out in a pout as he grabs at Kurt’s hands, trying to pull him into the throng of dancing bodies. “Always want to dance with you.” His eyes darken and he leans closer, tongue darting out to slick his bottom lip.

Kurt closes his eyes, pulling his hands away. This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of Blaine to set the restrictions on their relationship and then make Kurt the one who has to enforce them.

For one tiny second Kurt imagines giving in, setting everything held tight between them loose and letting Blaine deal with his own consequences tomorrow.

But he’s not that guy. He takes a step away, shaking his head. “Blaine--” he starts, but cuts himself off when the music falls silent and the lights go out, replaced by the dim, flickering light of candles. An enormous pink birthday cake appears in the door leading to the kitchen and everyone launches into a spirited but mostly off-key rendition of the Happy Birthday song.

“Aww, you guys, that was beautiful,” Andrew says when the song finishes, dabbing imaginary tears away from his eyes. “Seriously, though, I just wanted to say...”

Kurt never does find out what Andrew wants to say; he stops listening when Blaine takes advantage of the lack of light to move close. Their hands brush, Blaine’s fingertips tracing over the skin at Kurt’s wrist, down to his palm, down further until he slides his fingers between Kurt’s, draws them lightly up and down in a slow caress that makes Kurt’s breath hitch in his throat.

Their fingers slide through and around each other in the darkness, dancing together in a way their bodies can’t, and Kurt can’t seem to get his balance but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, he just wants Blaine to keep touching him.

There’s a loud cheer and the lights come back on, startling them both. Kurt’s disappointed but not surprised when Blaine pulls away, looking lost and scared and suddenly sober. He turns away without saying anything, retreating back to his group of admirers.

 _We can’t keep doing this_ , Kurt thinks, rubbing absently at the dull ache in his chest.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, leaning sideways against a wall and staring into space, but he suspects it’s been a while when someone speaks to him.

“No one is allowed to frown like that at my party. It’s a rule.”

Andrew sidles up next to him, plastic beaded necklaces jangling together as he sways his hips in time with the music. He’s swapped the princess party hat for a plastic tiara and someone has pinned a badge to his sweater vest, a picture of Cinderella and a pink number five, with a “2” scrawled before it in black sharpie. He looks like he should have blond ringlets and rosy cheeks; Kurt feels an inexplicable urge to hug him.

“You’re Michael’s friend from high school, right?”

It takes Kurt a second to figure out that ‘Michael’ is Mike. “Oh, yes,” he says belatedly, holding his hand out to shake. “I’m Kurt Hummel.” Andrew takes his hand and pulls him into a quick hug, eliciting a surprised gasp from Kurt as he’s almost lifted off the floor.

“Awesome,” Andrew grins as he pulls Kurt away from the wall, “now we dance.”

Kurt’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, digging in his heels. Broadway star or not, he’s not dancing here, in front of this crowd. “I’m not a dancer,” he says in a rush, still resisting the pull on his arm.

“Everyone’s a dancer, honey,” Andrew grins, dancing literal circles around him that force Kurt to keep turning his head to keep him in sight. Andrew does a perfect double pirouette before he grabs Kurt around the waist and dips him backward, head almost touching the floor before he’s pulled upright and set back on his feet.

Kurt laughs despite himself, gripping Andrew’s arms for balance and letting himself be led in a tight waltz that’s completely at odds with the Run-D.M.C. blaring from the sound system.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

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“Ooh, hello,” Andrew says delightedly, “I spy a green-eyed monster.” He guides Kurt into a quick spin that leaves him slightly dizzy and facing the opposite direction, staring at a scowling Blaine over Andrew’s shoulder. Kurt’s stomach jumps into his throat.

“Oh, no, we’re not--” he starts to protest. “I mean he’s not--”

“Uh-huh.” Andrew doesn’t sound even a little bit convinced, and Kurt doesn’t blame him. Blaine is glaring at them and not being subtle about it; with the expression on his face Kurt half expects to hear him growling.

Blaine starts in their direction and Kurt tenses, the livid expression on his face making Kurt wonder just for a second if Blaine might throw a punch, if he’s that kind of drunk.

Blaine pushes past them and makes for the front door, slamming it behind him though no one can hear it over the music. Somehow that makes Kurt angrier than if Blaine had done something to cause a scene. _There goes Blaine Anderson, running away again._

Andrew shakes his head and releases him with a final spin and a peck on the cheek. “You’re going to have your hands full with that one,” he says with a laugh.

Kurt opens his mouth to protest, but Andrew is already halfway across the room, leaping onto Mike’s back with a loud “yeee-haw!”. Sighing, Kurt turns to go after Blaine.

It’s cool and dark in Mike’s front yard; he’d have a hard time spotting Blaine in the shadows if not for the illumination of his cell phone. Kurt assumes he’s calling for a car.

Blaine looks up at Kurt’s approach, his eyes a heavy mix of wariness and anger. He pockets the phone, staring at Kurt with his hands on his hips as though Kurt’s the one with explaining to do here.

Kurt balls his hands into fists and doesn’t say anything for a long minute, until, “I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

He says it aloud almost at the same moment he realizes it himself, but he doesn’t try to take it back. He’s not sure what even possessed them to think they could be friends in the first place. It’s not working and they have to put a stop to it.

Or he has to, since Blaine won’t.

“What?” Blaine’s voice sounds thin in the darkness.

“I’m in love with you,” Kurt says flatly, “and every day you keep finding new ways to make that hurt.”

Blaine huffs out a breath. “You think it’s easy for me?” he asks, voice rising incredulously. “Watching you flirt with other guys? This constant, conscious effort not to touch you?” He turns his back, hands clenching in his hair.

“Then do it,” Kurt snaps, stepping back into Blaine’s space. “Touch me, Blaine. I _want_ you to.”

Blaine lets out a shaky breath and turns around slowly, lowering his hands until they're hovering over Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt can see them trembling in his peripheral vision. He stops breathing, doesn’t dare move.

He sees the exact moment the fear takes over. It seems to take forever, but eventually Blaine deflates, arms falling back to his sides. “You know I can’t,” he says with defeat.

It hurts so much that for a brief moment Kurt wants to lash out, to hurt back. Instead, he takes a long breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“Then you can’t expect me to just sit around and be satisfied with whatever scraps you throw me,” he says finally. “I’m not going to keep doing this to myself, waiting for you to wake up and realize that this is worth it.”

Blaine opens his mouth but Kurt shakes his head, cutting him off. “You don’t get to have it both ways. So we’re done with this. I’m done with this.”

 

~*~*~*~


	6. : A Parade of Paper Faces

**~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

As far as breakups go,-- and doesn’t it suck that they get all the awkwardness of a breakup without even getting to do the good parts first-- this one at least has good timing. They only have to endure one uncomfortable cast interview with Chelsea Handler ( _Oh yeah, we all get along great! We’re like family! Of course we’ll stay friends!_ ) and then they’re parting ways, Blaine to Australia, Allie to Japan, and Kurt, incredibly, to England.

Kurt Hummel is going to London.

They’re sending Blaine too, of course, when he’s done with Australia and New Zealand, but by then Kurt will be long gone. He’s got two days in London and one in Paris, plus a stopover in Germany to appear on some variety talk show he’s never heard of, and then he’s done with the promo tour and officially done with this movie.

The flight is long, but Kurt doesn’t mind. He’s always liked flying, still gets that little thrill in his gut when the engines roar to life. It’s the same feeling he got his first time in a plane, a 747 to Chicago senior year, taxiing down the runway at Columbus Regional Airport on their way to Nationals with Rachel cutting off the blood supply to his fingers and Puck pulling faces at the kid across the aisle. It seems like yesterday.

He hitches the strap of his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder and steps off the jetway into terminal five at Heathrow tired but excited. He’s never been to London, and as he follows the line of weary looking people making their way dutifully toward baggage claim, Kurt is hit with the realization that he’s getting paid for this. He’s working in a profession that pays him to take trips to Europe.

He yawns as he wrestles his suitcase off the carousel, thinking of the bed waiting for him at the hotel, but it’s been more than five months since he last saw Rachel Berry in person, almost twice that since he saw her on stage, and this is the only evening he has free in his itinerary.

He grabs a quick shower in a tiny but thankfully clean stall in the terminal bathroom, has his bags sent on to the hotel, and hops a cab to the Apollo Victoria Theatre.

Kurt spends the twenty minute drive staring out the window at London, fascinated and surprised by the realization that he can _see_ Rachel living here. He’s not sure why, but he suspects that this city suits her.

He gets so caught up in the excitement as they pass Buckingham Palace that he snaps a picture on his phone and is halfway through attaching it to a text message to Blaine before he remembers. Deflating, he sends the message to his dad instead and tells himself not for the first time to get over it.

The theatre is exactly how he pictured it, right down to the double decker buses rumbling past the front entrance at regular intervals. Inside is all old world art deco architecture and soft lighting, the low rumble of voices echoing in the open space as people talk in their seats, waiting for the lights to go down.

“Excuse me, sorry, excuse me...” Kurt makes his way slowly along the row, squeezing past people’s knees toward the empty chair between an ancient looking woman in a hideous floral nightgown-style dress and a slim, attractively muscular guy with a closely-shaved head. The pretty redhead the guy is sitting with gives Kurt a smile and tucks her spiked heels under her so Kurt can squeeze past, dropping into his seat just as the lights start to dim.

The show is incredible. Kurt lets himself get caught up in it, music and lighting and colors thrumming through him, crystal clear voices sweeping him away. It’s everything he loves about musical theatre. As the finale reaches its climax he’s struck by a memory of Rachel, clutching his hand as they ran, giggling and shushing each other, down the centre aisle of the empty Gershwin theatre their first week at NYADA.

His eyes well with unshed tears and he cranes his neck to keep his eyes on Rachel Berry, soaring overhead suspended by a harness as she belts out one last, extended note before the stage lights go out, plunging the theatre into blackness.

“Who’s she?” Kurt hears the guy next to him ask his girlfriend before the lights come back on and the dancers assemble on stage for curtain call.

“Rachel Berry,” he answers automatically, the redhead still reaching for her program. The guy turns to look at him and Kurt grins, applauding as the dancers give way to the ensemble actors. “She’s my best friend,” he says. “Her name is Rachel Berry.”

“Brilliant,” the guy says in a thick Irish accent, “tell her from me she’s really good.”

Kurt laughs inwardly, thinking about how insulted Rachel would be to hear herself described as ‘really good’, but nods his agreement as the applause gets louder, a few whoops and hollers ringing through the crowd as the featured actors start running out to take their bows.

Kurt surges to his feet along with the rest of the crowd when Rachel appears. She’s grinning and waving and blowing kisses, face flushed with exertion and happiness; she belongs here. He’s seen her in other roles, but this one is different. This one is hers. Kurt laughs even as he cries, planting one hand over his heart as if to physically contain his pride.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

They go out after, Kurt’s exhaustion forgotten in the wake of Rachel’s excitement at seeing him. She’d launched herself at him-- squealing loudly enough to hurt his ears-- and dragged him out to the stage door with her, introducing him to everyone she signed autographs for. A few people had recognized him from Broadway and asked for his autograph, too. It was crazy and fun and just what he needed.

They’ve only been at the pub half an hour when Rachel makes her way over to the jukebox, sending Kurt a sly grin while she programs her selection and drags him out to the ancient vinyl dance floor. They’re the only ones dancing but they don’t mind, throwing in the random bits of choreography they remember and making up the rest while people look on curiously.

“ _Working hard to get my fill_ ,” Kurt sings, breaking off into laughter when Rachel starts to circle him with mock intensity. It's such a perfect imitation of her high school self that for a second he’s back in the McKinley High choir room, watching Rachel and Finn stalk each other around the piano.

Kurt throws his fists in the air and then draws them dramatically down to his chest as he belts out the chorus, shimmying his shoulders in a patented Kurt Hummel sashay that makes Rachel crack up, losing the words in her laughter. Kurt picks up the slack, trying to sing both parts at once while Rachel clutches her stomach and wipes tears from her eyes.

They get a round of applause from the pub’s few patrons when the song ends, and they take their bows and a free round of drinks back to their table. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard that song,” Rachel giggles, still out of breath as she drains half her blind russian in one go.

“Bathroom break,” she says, setting her glass on a cardboard coaster and rounding the table to drop an affectionate kiss on the top of Kurt’s head as she passes.

His phone is displaying two missed calls and three unread text messages when he pulls it out of his bag, all from Blaine. He sighs as he opens up the message thread, telling himself that whatever it says he will not get sucked back into this. He meant it when he said he was done.

7:37pm From: Blaine  
I’m sorry.

7:45pm From: Blaine  
I miss you.

8:08pm From: Blaine  
I know I crossed a line. But you’re my best friend, Kurt. Hell, you’re my only friend. If I stop sending mixed signals and keep my stupid nose out of your relationships, can we be friends again?

Kurt groans inwardly and resists the urge to smack his own head against the table. He should ignore it, he knows he should, but he can’t. He taps the reply field harder than necessary with his thumb.

11:57pm To: Blaine  
I don’t want to be your friend, Blaine, and you don’t want to be mine. Friends isn’t an option for us.

The vivid red of Rachel’s fashion crime of a dress draws his eye when she comes out of the ladies room, so Kurt pockets his phone and heads in her direction. He grabs her by the wrist once she’s close enough and pulls her back out to the dance floor over the sound of her laughing protests; it’s his one free night in London with his best friend, and he’s going to have fun or die trying.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt pointedly ignores his phone for the rest of the night. By the time he digs it out in the elevator on the way up to his floor there are another six missed calls, five of them from Blaine. Sighing, he makes a mental note to return Finn’s call tomorrow and hits the icon next to Blaine’s name, not even bothering to figure out the time difference. Blaine’s last attempt to call was less than twenty minutes ago.

“Hello?” Blaine picks up on the second ring and Kurt's first thought is that he woke him after all; his voice is slurred and huskier than usual. “Kurt? S’that you? Hi. You called me.”

“Yes, I called you to tell you to stop calling me.” Kurt grinds his teeth, annoyed that he has to do this at all. He’s already made it clear where they stand. He’s in no mood to be pursued by someone with no real interest in ever being with him.

“Huh? Called you to stop... what?”

Kurt narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. Well. I mean, yes. I think... yes. I probably am. Yeah.”

Kurt sighs.“Okay, well, I’m on my way to bed and I have interviews tomorrow so if you could save the drunk dialling for your _actual_ ex-boyfriends, that would be great.” Kurt winces; he hadn’t meant that to sound so bitter. “Goodnight,” he tacks onto the end, hearing Blaine’s breath hitch.

“I don’t really have any,” Blaine says in a low voice before Kurt can hang up. Kurt's jaw clenches, eyes raised to the ceiling. He just wants to be done with this conversation. He doesn’t trust himself to talk to Blaine without doing something stupid. Like begging pathetically for Blaine to love him; Kurt would like to keep the illusion that he’s above that.

“Ex boyfriends, I mean,” Blaine clarifies unnecessarily. “I mean, there was this guy in high school but he wasn’t really... we mostly just had really bad sex in the back of his car.”

Kurt chokes on nothing. Despite his irritation, he has to stifle a laugh at Blaine’s drunken candor. “That’s... nice.”

“Not really. I mean it was kind of--”

“Right. Okay.” If there’s a certain degree of fondness in the way Kurt shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, at least Blaine can’t see it. “I think you need to go sleep this off. Just--”

“Please don’t hang up. Please.” Kurt’s eyes widen, taken aback by the sudden desperation in Blaine’s voice. He blows out a breath and sits down heavily on the edge of his bed.

“I don’t-- I can’t-- I hate this. I can’t breathe, Kurt, I...”

“Blaine--”

“I tried to tell him. That I want... but he just...”

Kurt’s brows furrow in confusion. “Blaine, slow down. You tried to tell who? Your agent?”

“What? No. My dad.” Blaine laughs humorlessly. “He’s proud of me, you know. He’s so proud I managed to make it as an actor despite my own _limitations_. I didn’t waste the opportunities _given_ to me." Blaine huffs. " _Given_. Like I owe it all to Cooper. As if having a brother on fucking _Days of Our Lives_ gave me a head start in the business.”

Kurt hears him let out a shaky breath and his voice lowers to a murmur. “As if that’s what being gay is. A limitation.”

Kurt’s stomach does a flip. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Blaine say it aloud, that he’s gay.

“I told him...” Blaine trails off, losing the words mid-sentence. Kurt doesn’t try to fill the silence, just waits for Blaine to be ready to go on. “I told him I was thinking about maybe coming out,” he says finally.

Kurt almost drops the phone. “You... you’re thinking about coming out? _Publicly?_ ” He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but the last time they spoke Blaine wouldn’t risk being outed for anything or anyone. Kurt’s trying to figure out what’s changed.

“I’m so tired, Kurt.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything else for a long time, and when he finally speaks his voice is quiet and sad, but steady. “He said he wasn’t disappointed.”

“That’s...” Kurt’s brow furrows again. There’s something he’s still not getting here. “That’s good, Blaine.”

He hears movement, the sound of glass clinking. “He said he wasn’t disappointed because he was expecting it. He always knew I’d do something to fuck it up.” There’s a pause. “I don’t have the backbone for it. Success. He knew I’d make a mess of it.”

Blaine lets out a tiny sob and Kurt’s own eyes well with tears. “If I... he’ll just...” His voice trails off brokenly, comes back in a low, hopeless whisper that makes Kurt’s heart clench in his chest. “I don’t want to go back to not existing, Kurt.”

Kurt releases a long breath, closing his eyes as he struggles for something to say. “Blaine, I...” He hears a soft thunk and a faint rustling, imagines Blaine setting his empty glass on the bedside table of whatever generic hotel room he’s in right now.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers. All this time he’s thought Blaine’s fear of being outed was just about protecting his career, his name. “I don’t know what to--”

“Don’t apologize,” Blaine says quietly. “You, you’re...”

He waits, but Blaine doesn’t say anything else, seeming content to let the sentence hang. Kurt spends long minutes just listening to the sound of his breathing, trying to find the magic words that will make this better.

He gives up eventually, just staying on the phone with Blaine in silence until he feels himself start to drift off. “Blaine?” he whispers, aware that Blaine has probably already fallen asleep, the predictable end result of a lot of alcohol consumed in a short space of time.

He doesn’t get a response, but Kurt listens for another full minute before he hangs up, just in case.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt’s first full day in London doesn’t leave him a whole lot of time to worry about Blaine. He wakes to a pounding headache and the realization that he’s going to be late for _BBC Breakfast_ if he doesn’t get his ass into gear.

Forty-five minutes, a shower and three ibuprofen later he’s wolfing down a croissant in a BBC Television Centre green room, careful to keep any errant crumbs away from his tailored suit jacket while he waits for someone to fetch him.

The interview is short and nothing new-- what was it like working with Blaine Anderson? Do you like film or stage acting better? What’s up next for you?-- and turns out to be the first in a long line of short and nothing interviews that day.

It’s hectic and yet also somehow tedious; Kurt collapses on his hotel bed at 7pm having talked about nothing more interesting than the age old “boxers or briefs” dilemma all day.

Craving an actual two-sided conversation that isn’t about his role in Blaine Anderson’s new movie, Kurt dials Finn’s number, idly thumbing through the room service menu as he waits for his brother to pick up.

“Holy crap, there’s a famous movie star calling me,” Finn teases in lieu of a greeting. “Where are you today? Paris? Rome? The Whitehouse”

“Paris soon,” Kurt huffs a laugh, “still in London right now.”

“Cool. Hey, can you get the queen's autograph for me? You get to meet her, right, now that you’re all famous and stuff?”

Kurt’s eyeroll is audible. “No, Finn. I don’t get to meet the queen. Maybe after I win my second or third academy award.”

He hears the dull beep of call waiting in his ear, but lets it go to voicemail.

“Awesome, dude. Can you thank me in your Oscar speech?”

“Hmm.” The corners of Kurt’s mouth twitch up in a smile. “My first three Oscar speeches are mainly devoted to Alexander McQueen and Patti LuPone. You might have to wait for the fourth.”

He hears Finn’s soft chuckle over the sound of clanging metal and the hiss of an air compressor, the distant whine of a power drill; Finn must be at the shop. He closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself miss home.

“Ohio same as ever? How’s the coaching?”

Finn hums thoughtfully. “We lost this week but half the team’s out with flu, so.” Kurt hears the shrug in his voice. “I think we’re in with a good shot at the conference championship.”

“That’s good. Maybe I’ll get to a game this year.” That's a lie, and Finn probably knows it; Kurt has no intention of ever setting foot on the WMHS campus ever again. Finn won't call him on it, though.

He shifts the phone to his other ear. “How’s Puck doing?”

Kurt had quietly worried when Finn announced his plan to have Puck co-manage the garage with him. He understood the reasoning-- the assistant coaching position at McKinley had been offered along with the information that Coach Beiste was looking to groom someone to step into her job next year. It was an opportunity too good for Finn to pass up, however much he loved running the garage.

So it wasn't that Kurt was against hiring someone to take over the day-to-day management of the shop, it's just that he remembered Puck as a kid with less common sense than the average second grader. So he’d worried. But his dad and Carole had both agreed, and Kurt had kept his mouth shut.

He’s glad, now, that he did; Finn knew what he was doing. Puck turned out to have a great head for business, and within a year they were talking about opening a second shop in Findlay.

“Puck’s great,” Finn answers, a smile in his voice. “He’s starting to freak out about the baby being due, but Donna’s handling him. I’ll tell him you say hi.”

“Yeah. Text me a photo when the baby’s born. Especially if it comes out with a mohawk.” Finn snorts a laugh and Kurt flips over onto his stomach, feet kicking in the air. “What about you? Anyone new on the horizon?”

“Nah,” Finn sighs. “I still can’t believe Puck got married before I did.”

“Hmm. True.”

“But hey, you’re friends with Allison Carter now, right? I hear she’s single again. Help your brother out, man.”

Kurt’s eyes go wide and he scrambles upright, clutching the phone to his ear. Blaine and Allie aren’t together anymore? Since when? He wonders why Blaine didn’t tell him.

“Dude. That was a joke,” Finn says, obviously bewildered by Kurt’s sudden silence. “I don’t actually think you’re going to set me up with Allison Carter.”

Kurt shakes his head, brow furrowing. “No, I know, but... where did you hear she was single?”

“I don’t know, TV I guess. Why?”

“No reason.” Kurt knows he sounds less than convincing and he’s going to say more, but his call waiting beeps again and he decides to take the out. “Listen, Finn, I have to go; I’m getting another call. Can you tell Dad and Carole I say hi and I’ll call them in a few days?”

“Yeah, sure.”

That’s one of the things Kurt loves about Finn, his general willingness to take things at face value.

“Have fun in Paris. Eat some frog’s legs for me; I’ve always wanted to know what they taste like.”

Kurt laughs, rolling his eyes even though he knows Finn can’t see him. “Yeah, okay. I’ll bring a few back for you. Take care; I’ll talk to you soon.”

Kurt checks his voicemail after he hangs up, half expecting a message from Blaine, but an unfamiliar voice identifying herself as the PA of an executive producer is calling to let him know about some scheduling changes, and could he please call back at his earliest convenience?

The conversation is short and to the point: Berlin is off his itinerary and his 11am radio interview tomorrow has been cancelled in favor of another breakfast television spot on a different network, this time with Blaine. Because Blaine is already in The U.K., apparently.

Kurt tries not to be hurt that Blaine hasn’t called. It’s not like one drunken telephone conversation can clear up all the tension between them. Blaine drinking the mini bar dry and fantasizing about coming out doesn’t mean he still wants that when he’s sober, and just because he broke up with his fake girlfriend doesn’t mean he suddenly wants to be with Kurt.

Besides, it was Kurt who said they couldn’t be friends. Of course Blaine hasn’t called; it’s what Kurt said he wanted.

For a minute Kurt thinks about cracking open the minibar himself. He goes to bed early instead, but it still takes him a long time to fall asleep.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

There’s a short, stocky woman with a long range zoom lens perched across the road when he leaves the hotel the next morning. He’s running a little late-- he’d changed his outfit four times and had to redo his hair-- so he wouldn’t have even noticed her if not for the fact that she points the camera in his direction as he’s climbing into a waiting car.

Kurt furrows his brow, craning his neck to watch her as they drive away. She was definitely taking pictures of him; Kurt sees her lower the camera once he’s behind the tinted windows of the car, her eyes trained once again on the entrance to the hotel.

He shakes his head at the idea that being in a movie with Blaine Anderson makes him suddenly interesting to the British tabloid press and vows to keep a closer look out from now on. He’d rather not have a series of unflattering candids circulating this early in his career if he can prevent it.

His stomach is full of butterflies when the car leaves him at the studio. He doesn’t bother pretending to himself that it’s anything other than the prospect of seeing Blaine again twisting him up in knots.

Blaine, for his part, gives Kurt a polite nod and a barely there smile when Kurt enters the shared green room, and then goes back to fixing his hair in the lighted mirror without saying anything. Kurt’s heart sinks unpleasantly, disappointment settling in his gut.

“Listen, about the other night,” he starts, wondering if Blaine’s reticence can be put down to embarrassment, but he’s not sure how to bring it up. There’s a long, uncomfortable pause while he flounders for something more to say. “Are you okay?” He finally asks with a sigh. “I know your dad isn’t--”

“I’m fine; it’s fine,” Blaine cuts him off, smiling his movie star smile. “I shouldn’t have called you. I was drunk and I’m sorry; it won’t happen again.”

“...okay.” Kurt wants to say more, but Blaine is standing, one last check of his hair before he heads for the door.

“See you out there.”

Kurt stares uncomprehendingly at the wall for a full minute after Blaine leaves, snapping himself out of it only when one of the crew taps on the door with a fifteen minute warning.

The interview is relaxed and informal in the typical style of breakfast television talk shows. Blaine carries most of it, cracking up the hosts with mostly embellished stories from the set and chatting easily to Kurt like they still talk every day. But after, back in the green room, Kurt can’t pull more than a one word response out of him.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Kurt finally asks him in the mirror. “I mean is there a reason for the cold shoulder? If you’re mad at me, you could at least tell me why.”

Blaine’s face is blank and unreadable. “I’m not mad at you.”

Kurt stares at him, waiting for more, but Blaine just grabs his bag and a bottle of water and heads for the door.

“So wait, that’s it?” Kurt throws his own bag down in a leather chair with a huff, ready to have this out. “You left like twenty thousand messages on my phone two nights ago and now you’re not even speaking to me?”

Blaine stops walking and turns to face him, jaw clenched and head tilted in that petulant way that means he’s about to lose his temper. Good; Kurt wants him to get angry. At least then he can deal with _Blaine_ and not the stupid Blaine facade he wears to protect himself from everyone and everything in the world.

Blaine doesn’t say anything for a long minute, refusing to meet Kurt’s eyes, but Kurt just waits. He’s not letting Blaine off the hook, but neither is he going to beg Blaine to talk to him.

“What do you want from me, Kurt?” Blaine finally snaps. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t be friends. And clearly you don’t want to be anything more, so what the fuck do you want me to say to you? That you were right? Yeah, you were. Okay?”

Kurt’s brow furrows. “What was I right about? What do you mean--”

“You said friends wasn’t an option for us. You were right. I don’t know how to...” Blaine trails off, losing his anger, voice going quiet and resigned. “I was being unfair to you. I’m sorry, okay. I have to go.”

Blaine takes another step toward the door but Kurt’s fingers catch his wrist, grip tighter than he means it to be but dammit, he just needs Blaine to talk to him. He pulls Blaine around to face him and though Blaine doesn’t resist, he still won’t meet Kurt’s eyes.

“What do you mean, ‘clearly I don’t want to be anything more’?”

Blaine jerks his hand free with a scowl. “I’m not in the habit of chasing people who are taken, Kurt.”

Kurt must look confused, because Blaine rolls his eyes, huffing out a humorless laugh. “What, you thought I didn’t know? I’ve seen the pictures.” He swings his bag around so he can open it, digs roughly through its contents while he speaks.

“After the other night, on the phone, I thought that maybe if I-- maybe you’d still...” he shakes his head, throwing a copy of _The Enquirer_ down on top of Kurt’s bag with more force than necessary.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me anything. You’re free to see whoever you want. Just, please don’t ask me to stick around and watch.”

~*~*~*~


	7. : A Parade of Paper Faces

~*~*~*~

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On the one hand, the photo is pretty convincing. Someone must have snapped it with a camera phone; the cute guy with the shaved head from Rachel’s show-- who Kurt now knows from the article is a famous, recently outed soccer player-- looking at him with a small smile and a raised eyebrow. Paired with Kurt’s mile-wide grin and taken out of context, they do look like a couple.

Underneath the article is another, grainier photo of the same soccer player and a guy Kurt supposes could be mistaken for him: same color hair, and you can’t see his face in the photo. They’re holding hands. So, okay, sure. Kurt can see how it might be somewhat persuasive to the average reader.

But, on the other hand, it’s the _Enquirer_. Blaine should know better.

Blaine’s watching him expectantly; Kurt suspects he’s waiting for a reaction to being caught out. Kurt can’t help it; he laughs.

“I suppose as far as tabloid boyfriends go, I could have done worse. My publicist is going to think it’s christmas. Also?” He throws the magazine in the general direction of Blaine’s satchel without taking his eyes off Blaine’s stupid, ridiculous face. “You’re an idiot. _The Enquirer_ , Blaine? Really?”

Blaine looks floored. “The pictures...”

“We sat next to each other at my friend’s show. I didn’t even know who he was.”

“But--”

“The second one’s not even me.”

Blaine flips through the magazine again, tilts his head and stares at the photo like he’s seeing it for the first time. Looking for the differences instead of the similarities. “Oh. I... oh.”

When he finally meets Kurt’s eyes, he looks sheepish, but there’s also an intensity there that Kurt’s never seen before. “You’re not...”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Blaine takes a step forward and Kurt’s heart rate picks up a little. Then a soft knock at the door makes him want to kick something.

“Blaine.” Jeannie, Blaine’s PA. Of course. “You have a radio interview in forty minutes; we need to get you over to the station.”

Blaine’s eyes close briefly in frustration. “One second,” he calls, giving Kurt an apologetic once-over as he backs up. “I’m playing The Borderline tonight,” he says hurriedly, opening the door to reveal Jeannie’s ever serious face. “Please be there?”

Kurt nods silently and Blaine turns to Jeannie. “Make sure there’s a ticket at the door tonight for Kurt.”

Jeannie nods and makes a note in the diary she carries with her everywhere, and they’re both gone before Kurt can say anything else. Not that he has any clue what he would have said.

Kurt’s not entirely convinced that Blaine’s ready to stop running from this, even if he thinks he is.

He’s distracted all day, trying to focus past the thought of Blaine throwing another copy of _The Enquirer_ at his feet, Blaine’s picture on the front cover under a screaming headline-- probably something with the words ‘SECRET GAY LOVER’ in bold font-- and looking at Kurt with regret.

It’s not a nice thought. Kurt doesn't know if Blaine has thought this through, not properly, and if Blaine isn’t ready to deal with the consequences to his career and to his life, the worst thing Kurt could do would be to let this happen.

The Borderline is packed wall to wall when he finally makes it through the throng of people crowding the front entrance, at least half of them with professional cameras bouncing on leather neck straps as they jostle for elbow room and the best angle.

Inside, it’s small and dark, a stereotypical basement bar, steamy and sweaty and fashionably dingy.

And loud. The standing room only crowd seems to have been drawn entirely from the 18-24 female demographic, and they’re screaming fit to burst his eardrums as Blaine murmurs something unintelligible into the microphone and launches into a new song.

Kurt knows this one; it was one of those songs on the radio a few years ago that Kurt liked the first hundred or so times he heard it, and then learned to hate passionately just by virtue of it being overplayed. He smiles at the thought that he probably cursed Blaine’s name a few times while switching stations.

It’s late; Kurt’s last interview ran over and if Blaine’s running close to schedule then he’s already more than halfway done with his set. Kurt almost didn't come at all; he's not convinced that it's best for either of them to go down this road and it was easy to think of his interview running late as both a sign and an excuse.

He's here, though. In the end he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Blaine on purpose.

His stomach is all twisted up in knots and he’d really like a drink, but he’s already given up hope of making it to the bar this side of forever. He parks himself against the far wall and settles in to watch Blaine practically make out with the microphone stand instead. All things considered, it’s a reasonable compromise.

Still, he’s relieved when Blaine starts thanking everyone for coming out to see him; Kurt’s exhausted and his feet are sore and although he generally likes Blaine’s music, he can’t focus enough to enjoy it tonight.

He almost misses it when the final encore, instead of winding down, segues into a more upbeat, vaguely familiar melody that Kurt can’t quite place until Blaine throws himself into the lyrics. It’s a twisted, alternative rock version of _Henry the Eighth I Am_.

Kurt pushes off the wall and presses his way through the crowd. Blaine must have left instructions with the bouncers because they move aside to allow him backstage without any explanation or pleading or outright bribery on Kurt’s part, and he’s waiting in the wings with a bottle of water when Blaine thanks the crowd again and exits stage left, rubbing haphazardly at his neck with a towel and blinking the stage lights out of his eyes.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

“Henry the Eighth?” Kurt hands him the water and Blaine accepts it gratefully, draining most of the bottle in one hit. He watches Blaine’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, follows the path of a trickle of sweat that wanders down to pool in the hollow of his throat.

He remembers that day of filming, the day they’d first made that bet, how easy they’d been with each other and how much fun it was even when they kept screwing up their cues and the director was getting pissed at them. They’d always liked being around each other, right from the very beginning.

“That was the deal,” Blaine says when he finishes drinking, replacing the cap on the bottle and setting it aside. “Right? First one to screw up a line?”

Kurt is silent for a minute, studying Blaine’s face as the band file past them, grinning madly and thumping Blaine on the back and shoulders in the worldwide shorthand for ‘good show’. Blaine gives the guitarist a thumbs up to go with his goofy grin and turns back to Kurt, alone now except for the guys breaking down the equipment out on stage.

Blaine shrugs self-consciously. “I mean it’s not the premiere, but there were a lot of cameras out there connected to YouTube, so--”

“What line?” Kurt cocks his head, eyebrow raised in question. “What line did you screw up?”

Blaine doesn’t look around to see who might be listening, doesn’t even lower his voice. “The one where you told me you loved me and I didn’t say it back. I’m crazy about you, Kurt.”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he looks around frantically, because damn it they’re in public and there’s paparazzi here and Blaine is going to hate himself for this tomorrow if someone gets this story tonight. He’s not ready for this.

Down in the bar, the DJ starts his set, some alternative rock song Kurt’s never heard before. “I love you,” Blaine says, not even pausing for air, “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it, but I do.”

Kurt sucks in a breath, fidgeting with his hands. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? My hotel? Can we just...” Kurt thinks about Blaine getting up tomorrow and seeing his face in the paper over breakfast, looking at Kurt and realizing what a mistake he’s made. He starts to panic a little. “Let’s just go back to my hotel, okay? Please.”

Blaine’s eyes narrow curiously. “I don’t... are you worried someone will hear? I don’t care anymore, Kurt; that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I want us to be together and I don’t want to hide it. My father can go to hell; I don’t care if I never get another acting job, I just want--”

“But you _will_ care, Blaine.” The words spill out of his mouth high pitched and unintentionally loud even over the volume of the music. Kurt winces, lowering his volume a fraction.

“You will care. Tomorrow, or in two days, or the first time you get passed over for a role, or when you talk to your dad, you’ll care. At some point, it will hurt. And I don’t want to be something you regret. So just...” Blaine’s staring at him, wide-eyed, and Kurt sighs heavily, deflating.

“Just take some time, okay? This is a huge deal, so just... take some time. Maybe when we’re back in the States...”

“Are you serious?” Blaine’s tone is incredulous. “You think I haven’t thought this through? I’ve done nothing _but_ think about this since...” Blaine shakes his head, losing the words. His shoulders tighten and his eyes narrow to dark slits.“I fired my agent. I told my _father_. Of course I know it’s a big deal. You think I’m just going to change my mind? Jesus.”

Kurt's jaw clenches. “Well, I don’t know Blaine, are you? It wasn’t that long ago you were standing in Mike’s front yard singing a vastly different tune, so forgive me if I’m a little wary of the quick turnaround.”

Blaine stares at him without speaking, the tight set of his jaw loosening in increments, and Kurt starts to feel self-conscious under the scrutiny.

“What?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Nothing. I just. Sorry. I guess I’ve been so focused on how terrified I was of this that I didn’t think about you being scared, too.”

Kurt’s chest tightens. “I-- I’m not--”

“Yes, you are.” Blaine takes a step forward, not quite close enough to be touching, but close. “It’s okay; you’re right. This is huge, for both of us. And I haven’t given you much reason to trust me with it.”

He takes Kurt’s right hand in both of his, cradling it next to his heart. “But Kurt, you have to know, this has been coming for months. It’s not as much of a quick turnaround as you think. I promise you, I’m not going to change my mind.”

Kurt almost whimpers, he wants to give in so badly. _Oh, just fucking kiss me already_ , he thinks desperately, but Blaine drops his hands, stepping back until he’s out of reach.

“You could never be something I’d regret,” Blaine says. “But we’ll do it your way. I’ll see you back home.”

Kurt calls out to him before he’s out of sight, but Blaine either can’t hear him over the pounding bass, or he chooses not to.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

The ceiling in Kurt’s hotel room is uniformly white, with a tiny crack in the paint directly over the bed curved in the shape of a fish. Kurt’s been staring at it for an hour, in between dialling Blaine’s number and hanging up before it rings, and staring at his suitcase as though it will pack itself if he glares at it long enough.

He’s going to Paris tomorrow. He should pack. He should be more excited.

He’s thinking of naming his ceiling fish ‘Darwin’.

There’s a text message to Blaine typed out on his phone, waiting for him to hit send, but hitting the button feels a little like going over a cliff. Blaine was right; he _is_ afraid. It turns out that wanting something and getting it are very different things.

Everything will change. He’ll go from being ‘Broadway actor Kurt Hummel’ to ‘Blaine Anderson’s boyfriend’, unable to go grocery shopping without someone taking his picture. Casting directors will see him as media fodder first and an actor second. A significant portion of Blaine’s fanbase will hate him. And amidst all of that, Blaine could decide at any moment that it isn’t worth it. He could take Kurt’s heart and shatter it, and there isn’t anything Kurt could do to stop it.

He looks at his phone again, thumb hovering over the send button for a moment. You’ve never been a coward, he thinks. Don’t start now.

The phone rings before he can make a decision. Not his cell but the land line on his bedside, a single shrill ring, sudden and unfamiliar. Kurt starts, dropping his phone back onto the bed with the text still unsent.

If he believed in signs, this would have to be one.

“Good evening, Mister Hummel,” says a British butler accent when Kurt picks up the phone. “You have a visitor; shall I send him up?”

“I’m not expecting any--” Kurt cuts himself off. That’s not true; he is expecting someone. He just didn’t know it until now.

“Sir?”

“Yes, send him up. Thank you.” He doesn’t need to ask who it is. His heart starts to thump in his chest.

Kurt sits on the bed and waits; it seems to take forever. He’s in such a state of anticipation that the soft knock at the door, when it finally comes, makes him jump.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself not to run, throw the door open, blurt out something ridiculous. He doesn’t even know for sure why Blaine’s here. One step at a time.

“I just want to say one thing,” Blaine says before Kurt’s even got the door fully open, “and then if you want, I’ll go.” He has his hands jammed nervously into the pockets of his jeans, looking up at Kurt through his lashes, hair curling damp at the ends like he just got out of the shower. As if Kurt could send him away.

Still, Kurt’s not sure what to say; ‘you had me at hello’ seems kind of stupid. So he just nods, stepping aside to let Blaine in. He closes the door and turns to Blaine, waiting.

Blaine pitches forward, slowly, one inch at a time, staring at Kurt’s lips the whole way until his eyes start to close and they’re not kissing yet, but they’re breathing the same air and one of Blaine’s hands is a cool pressure on the back of Kurt’s neck.

Kurt's focus narrows to that touch, then to the warm, shallow puffs of breath hitting his upper lip, to Blaine’s other hand cradling his hip, to the smell of clean laundry and aftershave, to the flutter of Blaine’s eyelashes, to Blaine’s mouth, full bottom lip slack and inviting and so, so close.

Kurt gasps at the first brush of their lips. Blaine’s fingers tighten reflexively on his hip, pulling him closer as their mouths make fleeting contact again. He winds his arms around Blaine’s waist and sighs, tilting his head and letting his mouth fall open. Blaine does the same, and then they’re kissing, slow and exploratory and good, intense, _finally_.

Kissing before has always felt like a prelude, like a warm up, but this... Kurt could happily stand here learning the texture and curve of Blaine’s mouth until one or both of them passes out from lack of air.

Blaine is shaking; Kurt can feel the faint tremble in his hands. He slides his own hands up the line of Blaine’s back over his shirt, following the curve and dip of his spine up to tangle in Blaine’s hair, soft and damp and curling around Kurt’s fingers as if to keep them there. Like he needs the incentive.

A soft whimper from the back of Blaine’s throat has Kurt opening wider, pulling him in, pressing them together from chest to knees, the feeling of Blaine against him overwhelming him for a second because _oh god_ this is really happening.

Blaine sags against him as though his legs aren’t strong enough to hold him up, so Kurt crowds him up against the door, pinning him with his body.

The hot, wet slide of Blaine’s tongue inside his mouth is even better than Kurt thought it would be. It makes his breath hitch and his fingers clench involuntarily in Blaine’s hair, tight enough that Kurt would worry he was hurting him if Blaine’s answering moan wasn’t loudly appreciative and also the hottest thing Kurt’s ever heard in his entire life.

He pulls back with a light scrape of teeth over Blaine’s bottom lip, relishing Blaine’s tiny whine of pleasure and then protest when he breaks the kiss.

Kurt feels dazed and a little off balance; his hands fall to rest on Blaine’s shoulders as he sucks in a long breath through his nose, trying to get his bearings. He feels like he's drowning, and he never wants it to stop.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Blaine looks wrecked already; staring at Kurt and breathing noisily, tongue slicking out over his lips as if to chase the taste of Kurt’s mouth. His hair is mussed from Kurt’s fingers, eyes dark and hungry and intensely focused. The sight sends a spike of raw want shooting straight to Kurt’s groin.

“Oh, god,” Kurt breathes, pulling Blaine back in again, swallowing his quiet moan as their mouths fit back together and he slides skin-hungry fingers under Blaine’s t-shirt, tracing up his sides and around to his shoulder blades, down to rest in the dip of his spine.

Blaine’s skin is smooth and feverishly warm; the urge to taste has Kurt dragging his mouth over his lightly stubbled jaw and down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, tongue flicking out to tease a soft moan from the back of Blaine’s throat.

Need thrums between them like an electric current. Kurt’s never felt this before, this urgency that's making his skin tingle and his blood pound.

Blaine arches back against the door with a groan, rolling his hips up into Kurt’s and baring his throat to Kurt’s mouth; Kurt breathes a whimper into his skin before he goes to work sucking a bruise over his pulse point.

“Kurt- god-”

Kurt sucks harder, fisting both hands in Blaine’s hair to hold his head still. Blaine hisses in a breath through his teeth and bucks his hips desperately, seeking friction, grabbing hold of Kurt’s ass and thrusting them together with shameless abandon; Kurt can feel the heat of him even through the layers of cotton and denim.

“Kurt, I want--” Blaine starts abortively, losing his breath as Kurt releases the suction on his neck and pulls back with a long scrape of teeth. “Please can I--”

Kurt strips off his button down and undershirt in record time, takes advantage of Blaine’s sudden distraction to divest him of the t-shirt, naked now from the waist up and pressed together chest to chest, a bright solar flare of skin on skin.

“You can do anything, Blaine,” he takes Blaine’s face in his hands and kisses him, soft and sweet. “You can have anything you want.”

Blaine’s eyes close on a whimper and he sinks to his knees, smooth glide down between the wall and Kurt’s body to press his face against the bulge in Kurt’s pants, breathing harshly and holding Kurt’s hips in a vice grip.

Kurt swears, braces his hands against the wall and tries to hold still. He’s so turned on he feels dizzy with it, desperate and aching in a way he’s never been before, Blaine’s hot breath through two thin layers of cotton making the rest of the world fade into something abstract and far away.

Kurt’s breath stutters as Blaine gets his pants undone and frees his erection, flushed red and already leaking, and he lets out a loud cry and bucks involuntarily when Blaine sucks him down.

He feels the vibration of Blaine’s low groan before he hears it. Blaine’s right hand curls around the base of Kurt’s cock to stroke and twist, eyes raising to meet Kurt’s as he works him over. His eyes are dark and glittering, half-lidded and full of need.

Kurt watches him, lips stretched around Kurt’s cock, eyes closing in a slow blink. He starts a rhythm slow enough to qualify as torture, pulling in air through his nose and licking at Kurt like he’s savouring the taste. It’s the hottest thing Kurt’s ever seen in his life.

Within minutes Kurt’s throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, harsh breathing echoing off the wall as he tries desperately not to thrust, not to come; _notyetnotyetnotyet_.

Blaine’s appreciative moaning around his cock is doing nothing to help that situation, and Kurt feels another high-pitched cry tear its way out of his throat.

“Blaine, if you don’t stop I’m gonna--”

Blaine pulls off wetly and Kurt groans at the loss. “Do it,” Blaine breathes, running his lips and tongue up and down Kurt’s length as he speaks. “Please, Kurt, I want it. Thought about this so much, god, you don’t even know--” and he sucks Kurt back in until the head of his cock is bumping the back of Blaine’s throat.

Oh, holy fucking-- Kurt keens, falling forward to brace himself against the wall, hips starting to thrust minutely in and out of the hot, impossibly tight suction of Blaine’s mouth. Blaine doesn’t seem to mind, hands moving from Kurt’s hips around to his ass, pulling him in deeper.

Kurt manages a single cry of warning, to which Blaine only hums his acknowledgement and sucks impossibly harder, and then Kurt’s bucking and coming in long, devastating pulses, burying his face in his arms and sobbing out his release as Blaine swallows wetly around him.

Blaine’s hands move to his hips as he pulls off with a soft pop. Kurt moans weakly, feels himself go boneless, the wall a necessary support when Blaine’s hands slide away.

Kurt looks down to see Blaine working frantically at the button and zipper of his own jeans, panting through his open mouth as he gets himself in hand and starts to stroke roughly, more speed than finesse.

Kurt’s still gulping in air and trying to remember his own name, but he’s aware enough to drop a hand to the back of Blaine’s head, twisting his fingers around a fistful of hair.

Blaine lets out a broken, gasping whine and Kurt pulls, not roughly but hard enough to tilt Blaine’s face up so Kurt can meet his eyes when he comes, hips stuttering and mouth gaping open around a long, guttural groan.

Kurt collapses down next to him, back against the wall, trading heat where their shoulders and arms touch.

“Oh my god,” Blaine says hoarsely.

Kurt can’t find the voice to answer so he just stares at Blaine and nods weakly in agreement, both of them panting hard and still twitching with random aftershocks.

 _Oh my god_ sums it up pretty well.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Blaine’s just beginning to rouse when Kurt steps out of the bathroom the next morning, steam billowing behind him. He tightens the bathrobe around his waist and towels at his damp hair, leaning against the doorframe to watch Blaine blink himself awake.

When Kurt had opened his eyes in the dim light of mid-sunrise, the last thing he’d wanted to do was get out of bed. Blaine’s breath was warm against the nape of his neck, bare chest pressing against Kurt’s back with every inhalation, slow and even and soothing.

Blankets twisted around them, miles of perfect skin pressed against his, pinning him to the mattress in a tangle of limbs, and it’s not that he’s surprised that Blaine’s a cuddler but there’s a pretty big difference between assuming and learning from experience.

So Kurt really didn’t want to get up. But he still had to pack, and shower, and at the very least exfoliate, because he has to be on camera today.

It’s Kurt’s last day of the promo tour; weird to think that by this time tomorrow he’ll be back in New York. Back to his old life. That’s not a bad thing; he misses the stage. Kurt just hates not knowing what’s going to happen next.

Blaine’s got a few more days and then they’ll both be officially done. And then what?

Last night had been amazing, but here in the bubble of the hotel room it still feels like a fantasy. Who’s to say that this won’t all scatter like a house of cards in a gale of publicists and paparazzi and an army of adoring fans who dream of one day marrying Blaine Anderson?

So sue him if he wants to stay in the bubble a little while longer.

“It’s okay,” Blaine says from the bed, breaking Kurt’s train of thought. His voice is husky with sleep, but his eyes are alert and staring at Kurt earnestly. “I can tell you’re worried, and I get why, but Kurt, I swear I’m not changing my mind or regretting this or whatever it is you think is going to happen. Okay? Please believe me.”

Kurt sighs. “I do believe you, I just...” he moves to sit on the bed, picking at the comforter while Blaine rolls over to face him. “Listen, there’s no reason you have to come out right away. You can--”

“Neither of us would be happy in a relationship we have to hide, Kurt.”

“No, I know--”

“Besides, someone would find out, eventually.”

“I know that, Blaine.” Kurt crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “I’m not saying you should stay in the closet indefinitely. I’m just saying it doesn’t have to be right away. We can let this settle a bit, first. You can take some more time to think about it. Make sure--”

“I am sure.” Blaine sits up, a determined expression settling on his face. “You’re still thinking of this as something I’m doing for you, Kurt. And it’s not true. _Because_ of you, maybe, because I was miserable and you helped me see that I could change that, gave me the courage to want to try. But not for you. I’m doing this for me.” He shakes his head, eyes closing on a slow blink. “I want done with this charade. I can’t stand to go one more week playing this fucking character all the time. I’m tired.”

Kurt studies his face for a moment as Blaine reaches out to grasp his hands. “Even if you didn’t want me anymore, even if you really were dating that soccer player, I was still going to come out. I _want_ to be out, Kurt. If that gets me you, that’s a hell of a bonus, but it’s not why I’m doing this.” He laughs humorlessly. “I’ve been so afraid of it all these years that I never realized, it’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

Kurt’s eyes soften and he looks down at their joined hands, back up to Blaine’s face, stares for so long that Blaine’s brow starts to furrow. “What?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Nothing. I just. I’m proud of you.”

Blaine blinks, jaw slackening in a way that makes Kurt wonder if anyone’s ever told him that and meant it. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and when he does, his voice is thick with tears.

“I hope so. I want you to be. C’mere”

Blaine kisses him slow and thorough, fingers twisting in his damp hair as he angles Kurt’s face and relearns the contours of his mouth. He sucks on Kurt’s bottom lip, coaxing a soft noise from the back of his throat before he pulls away. “How long before you have to leave?”

Kurt nudges Blaine down onto his back, crawling over him and fusing their mouths back together in answer.

They go slow; slower than they probably should considering they don’t have an unlimited amount of time before Kurt’s car will be here, but Kurt can’t bring himself to speed things up. He loves the lazy, endless glide of Blaine’s fingertips over his back, the quiet moans that linger between their mouths with every deliberate rock of their hips under the covers.

Kurt pulls back from Blaine’s mouth just far enough to look down and study his face, flushed and gorgeous, staring up at Kurt with wide, glazed eyes and sucking in air through his nose.

Their eyes lock and hold through long, delicious minutes of sliding together, quiet except for the sound of their breathing as it falls into sync with the rhythm of their bodies. Push, pull. Inhale, exhale.

Even when he starts to feel the frantic tug of _need to come ohgodnow_ , Kurt fights the urge to go faster and harder and forces himself to slow down even more, drawing out every second, teetering on the crest for some indeterminate amount of time before his body crashes over in long, agonizing waves that steal his breath and blank his mind to everything else.

Blaine is practically sobbing underneath him, back bowing, head arching into the pillow as he clutches at the bedsheets and comes, voice breaking around Kurt’s name and something incoherent that vaguely sounds like “love”.

Kurt crumples down into Blaine’s arms, buries his face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder and imagines that he can stay there all day.

~*~*~*~


	8. : A Parade of Paper Faces

**~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Despite not wanting to go, Paris is actually amazing-- or at least, the little of it Kurt gets to see in the meagre twelve hours he spends there is amazing-- and Kurt’s glad he got to see it, even though it meant leaving a sleepy and beautifully sex-rumpled Blaine back in London.

He only has two interviews that day, with six hours in between to walk the cobbled streets around Montmartre and window shop along Avenue-Montaigne and plan the vacation he’s absolutely taking here when he gets some proper time off.

When _they_ get some time off, because trips to Paris are the kind of thing he and Blaine will do together, now, and doesn’t that thought make his head spin.

He eats lunch outside at a sun-warmed wrought iron table in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, the cafe obviously a tourist trap but the food still delicious, and tells Blaine in a series of text messages all about the week they’re going to spend here in the summer. Blaine texts back a long string of smiley-faced emoticons and a heart.

It’s a good day. Still, when France is disappearing far below him and the plane starts to bank left, pointing its nose toward New York, Kurt finds that he’s glad to be going home. The whole thing has undoubtedly been an experience and Kurt’s glad he got the opportunity, but free trips to Europe or no, he’ll never really be a movie actor. He belongs on the stage.

Of course, the stage is eight and a half hours, two screaming children and a truly unidentifiable in-flight meal away, and Kurt’s enthusiasm starts to wane somewhere around hour three. By the time he’s climbing into a waiting car at JFK there’s a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes and the beginnings of a jet lag fog creeping its way around the edges of his brain.

Outside, it’s early evening in New York, the Hudson River faintly pink with the coming sunset and the work crowd just hitting the bars; city gearing up for a night on the town. Kurt rests his head against the car window and watches it all fly by, grateful not to have landed during rush hour.

His apartment is cold and silent but welcoming in its familiarity, everything exactly as he left it. He leaves his bag by the front door and heads straight for the shower, eager to scrub off that grimy airport feeling of long-distance travel and collapse into bed.

It’s still dark when he wakes-- going to sleep so early means he’s wide awake at three in the morning-- but Kurt doesn’t mind. He fumbles for his phone, squinting at the sudden harsh glare of the screen in the dark.

3:08am  
To: Blaine  
You awake?

Kurt’s not surprised when it rings almost immediately. It’s a little after eight in London; Blaine is probably just out of the shower-- Kurt takes a second to appreciate that mental picture-- and waiting for room service to bring up his breakfast.

“Melatonin, sunlight, coffee,” Blaine says before Kurt can say hello.

“I’m sorry?” he laughs, grabbing an extra pillow to put behind his head.

“Jet lag cure,” Blaine says. “Melatonin, sunlight, and coffee. I assume you need it since it’s like the middle of the night over there.”

“3am, actually,” Kurt tugs the blankets up higher against the chill in the air. “How was Jonathan Ross?”

There's a groan and a sound that could be Blaine’s palm connecting with his forehead. Kurt winces. “That bad?”

“He asked me if I was seeing anyone.”

Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise. “Already?” Blaine’s been officially broken up with Allie for less than a week; most interviewers would give that a wide berth for at least a month.

“Tell me about it. I wasn’t expecting him to go there either.”

Kurt makes a sympathetic noise. “What did you say?”

“I kind of just froze up.” He pauses for a second, letting out a breath. “I may have mumbled something about not talking about my personal life.”

Kurt groans. Everyone knows that’s code for ‘closeted gay’, practically a gilded invitation for the media to come sniffing. Blaine’s probably going to have to come out sooner rather than later if he wants to do it on his own terms.

“Yeah. I know. I panicked.” Kurt hears a rustle and a soft thump, imagines Blaine collapsing onto his hotel bed with the phone still pressed to his ear.

“So, I told my publicist I want to come out. She sarcastically told me that after the Jonathan Ross interview I might not need to, but she’s offered the scoop to AfterElton as soon as I get back.”

“Not _People_?”

“I think Rebecca’s brother works at AfterElton,” Blaine says, and Kurt can hear the shrug in his voice. “Besides, isn’t People kind of clichéd?”

“Yes,” Kurt nods. “AfterElton’s good; they’ll look after you there.” He pauses, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Are you going to tell them about us?”

“I... should I not? I mean, do you not want me to?”

Kurt sighs. “I think whether you do or you don’t, the press is obviously going to figure it out anyway. It’s not like we’re planning to hide anything. But not telling them straight up might buy us a few days, maybe?” A few days together without the paparazzi camped outside his building would be lovely. “And it would give me a chance to tell my family, before they see it on TV.”

He hears another rustle, Blaine shifting on the bed. “Yeah. Okay. Good.”

The hesitant tone makes Kurt wish fiercely that they were in the same room so he could at least see Blaine’s face. “You okay?”

“I’m not having second thoughts.”

“I know.” Kurt knows now that Blaine is ready for this, but that doesn’t make it easy. “That’s not what I was asking. Are you _okay_?”

“I’m... what if I can’t do it?”

Kurts heart clenches, hearing all of Blaine’s fears packed into that one six word question: What if I can’t handle it? What if I can’t keep my career on track? What if I can’t do all the things I want to do after this? What if I can’t be the person I want to be?

“You can.” Kurt swallows the lump in his throat and puts as much unwavering belief into the words as he’s able.

“I’m scared.”

Kurt closes his eyes. “I know. I’m here”.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

The next few days are unbearably long. Kurt runs his phone bill up and his cell battery down, talking and texting and sending Blaine random pictures-- the New York City skyline, the bus with Blaine’s face on it that always passes him on his way to the theatre, Placard Guy on 18th and Broadway who seems to blame Kurt personally for the coming apocalypse.

Blaine always replies with a snapshot of his own, whatever he’s looking at at the time-- his own face in a dressing room mirror, Big Ben through a car window; once, a video of the _Graham Norton Live_ audience waving hello during a commercial break.

Kurt has a new appreciation for people who manage long distance relationships. They’ve only had one night together and they’ll be apart for less than a week-- at least this time-- and already Kurt’s fantasizing about hopping a plane to Europe just to see him again.

It’s not the first time he’s missed Blaine. It isn’t even the second or the fifth or the twelfth. But it is the first time since he stopped actively trying not to, and that somehow makes it both easier and harder.

Friday rolls around eventually, and Kurt’s distracted all day. Blaine’s flight isn’t due in until late evening, but Kurt can’t settle to anything, can’t concentrate beyond _blaineblaineblainetodaysoonblaine_. He gets through rehearsal on autopilot and spends the rest of the day alternately watching a conveniently timed _Center Stage_ marathon on the CW and the clock.

Kurt’s only half paying attention to Lilah and Kady’s fight over Brad in the middle of senior showcase when a knock at the door jolts him off the couch. When he opens it, Blaine is pale and wide-eyed and an hour early and _here_ ; Kurt blinks as he tries to process everything at once.

“Are you okay?” He pulls Blaine inside by the wrist and lets the door swing closed behind him while Blaine winds both arms around Kurt’s neck and clings. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Blaine nods silently against Kurt’s shoulder and holds him tighter, breathing rapid and shallow. Kurt wants to ask what’s going on, but he knows Blaine will tell him when he’s ready and he seems to need a minute, so he just shuffles them over to the couch, flipping off the TV as Blaine curls up against his chest.

It’s quiet for so long that Kurt starts to wonder if Blaine’s fallen asleep. Before he can check, though, Blaine exhales a long breath and sits up, legs folding underneath him.

“I did it.”

It takes Kurt a second to figure out what he’s talking about. “You... what? AfterElton?!” Blaine nods. “That wasn’t supposed to be until Sunday.”

Blaine rests his temple against the back of the couch, eyes searching Kurt’s face. “I got it moved up. Took an earlier flight. I just... it felt like it was hanging over me. You know?” He closes his eyes, clearly exhausted. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted it done.”

Kurt reaches out, sweeping the hair off Blaine’s forehead to press a kiss there. “You should have told me; I would have... “ he trails off, frowning. He would have what? It’s not like he could have sat in on the interview and held Blaine’s hand. “I don’t know. Texted you trite platitudes about truth and courage? Something.”

Blaine laughs, turning his face into the couch cushion. “I know. But it kind of... felt like something I had to do on my own?” He opens his eyes, tired but steady. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Kurt nods, reaching out to thread his fingers through Blaine’s. “Of course it does. I’m so proud of you.” And god, he really is. He knows how hard this has been for Blaine, how scared he was. How scared he still _is_.

Blaine’s eyes go soft and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. “Thank you,” he says quietly, tightening his hand around Kurt’s. “I’m... sort of proud of me too, actually.” He breathes a soft, wry laugh and ducks his head. “Sorry I freaked out on you, I just. Everything got a bit overwhelming for a minute there.”

Kurt stretches out on the couch, pulling Blaine down with him until they’re lying back to chest with Blaine’s head pillowed on Kurt’s arm. Blaine hums contentedly and his breathing turns deep and even as he relaxes.

“They asked me if I was seeing anyone,” Blaine says after a moment, words already beginning to slur with impending sleep. “I said I was but wouldn’t say who.”

“That ought to throw a bit of blood in the water,” Kurt snorts, pulling him in tighter.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I didn’t know what else to say. It seemed sort of pointless to lie or refuse to answer the question.”

“True.” Kurt murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Blaine’s hair.

They’re quiet for a minute, and Kurt's just starting to drift off when Blaine speaks again, sounding mostly asleep.

“You should call your family. They’re running the story tomorrow.”

“Hmmm.” There’s no way Kurt’s moving right now. “Later.”

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

It’s dark when Kurt opens his eyes. Not yet obscenely late, but it’s late enough that he should call his dad and Carole now if wants to talk to them tonight.

Kurt untangles himself reluctantly, smiling when Blaine makes a soft sound of protest, the same sound he’d made that first morning when Kurt got out of bed at the hotel. It still feels a bit surreal, that he gets to have this.

His closest friends and family are all wonderfully predictable. His dad just wants to know if he’s happy. “I don’t care how famous this kid is," he says gruffly, "just tell me one thing. Is he good to you?”

Carole is content to shout her approval from the background until she gets on the phone to ask how rehearsals are going and when he thinks he'll be able to make it home for a visit. "Hopefully in a few weeks," he tells her, and stifles a laugh when she casually mentions that he should feel free to bring Blaine along.

Finn congratulates him and then wants to know if he’s allowed to tell anybody, because apparently being able to tell girls that his brother is dating Blaine Anderson will totally work for him.

Rachel shrieks unintelligibly at him for a full minute and then insists that she’s not one to say ‘I told you so’ even though she says it twenty-two times.

He feels physically and emotionally drained when he gets off the phone, thanking the universe again for giving him the family he has. He half carries, half drags a mostly still asleep Blaine to bed and sleeps for ten hours wrapped around him like a vine.

They read the story together in the morning, still in bed, bumping heads as they share Kurt’s tablet.

It’s good. Or, as good as they could have hoped for, at any rate. The article is eloquently written, and for such a big story there’s something almost quiet about its tone. There’s no screaming headline with bold exclamation points; the word EXCLUSIVE is nowhere in sight. It’s just Blaine’s story, told in his own words.

“How do you feel?” Kurt studies Blaine’s face while he reads through the comments, most of them positive, though Kurt knows that will probably change once the story moves beyond AfterElton to other news sites.

Blaine swallows, eyes skittering around the room, searching for the right words.

“Naked,” he finally says, letting the tablet fall to the bed and stretching out on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, I just...”

Kurt turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at Blaine’s face. “I know,” he says, when it’s clear that Blaine doesn’t know how to continue. “The first few days after I came out I felt weird. Exposed.”

Secrecy, Kurt knows, has been a familiar comfort to Blaine for a very long time, and now that's gone, discovered, published to the world. Of course he feels vulnerable.

“Yeah,” Blaine nods, finally meeting Kurt’s eyes. “I mean, people--” he cuts off abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath. Kurt reaches for his hand and Blaine squeezes his fingers in a vice grip. “People know.”

“They do,” Kurt says gently, hiding a comforting kiss in Blaine’s hair.

Blaine sighs. “There’s no going back now.” He closes his eyes, the words a quiet whisper, and Kurt tries not to tense.

“Do you want to?” He does his best not to let his own apprehension slip into his voice. If Blaine is going to regret this, Kurt is going to help him through it, not make him feel worse.

“I... no.” Blaine’s eyes are steady and determined when they meet Kurt’s. “No. It’s just-- it’s... a lot.” he shakes his head, looking lost, and Kurt tangles a hand in his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to distract you?”

“Distract,” Blaine says without hesitation, letting out a long breath and reaching for Kurt with an expression both grateful and pleading. “Please.”

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Kurt shifts so he’s already half on top of Blaine when their lips meet, chaste and gentle for about half a second before they fall into the kiss head first, mouths opening hungrily, almost a week's worth of stored want and frustration dialling up the urgency.

Blaine’s tongue snakes slippery-warm-wet into his mouth and Kurt moans around it, hands sliding under Blaine’s cotton t-shirt and up to his chest. The skin there is smooth and warm and oh, god, Kurt remembers what it _tastes_ like.

That thought has him breaking the kiss to pull Blaine’s shirt over his head, mouth immediately dropping to suck on one of Blaine’s nipples and tease a groan from the back of his throat.

This will never get old. The heat, the want, the way Blaine writhes under his hands. He can’t get enough of the feeling of Blaine’s skin under his fingers, the sounds he makes, the way he smells, tastes.

Blaine’s hands are suddenly everywhere, sliding and clenching in his hair, stroking over his shoulders, clutching at his sides, palming the nape of his neck. Kurt pulls his own shirt off in one quick slide, wanting to feel Blaine’s hands on his skin, and Blaine murmurs something appreciative as he tugs Kurt’s head up for another kiss.

He shivers at the sensation of Blaine’s fingertips ghosting lightly down his back, tracing the path of his spine and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Hands slip just under his waistband to grasp his hips and then Blaine is rolling them over, depositing Kurt onto his back without breaking the kiss.

“Smooth,” Kurt grins against Blaine’s mouth. He intends to say more, but his voice breaks off into a groan when Blaine slips between his legs and grinds down against him, pressure and friction and heat, perfect except for the layers of fabric still separating them. “Oh. Yes. Blaine--.” He gets a hand between them and tugs ineffectually at the button on Blaine’s slacks. “Off. Please.”

Once they’re naked, Blaine nudges him down onto his back and settles over him, mouthing hot, sucking kisses to the side of his neck as he starts to rock his hips. Kurt gasps and melts into it, rolling up to meet the slow tilt of Blaine’s body into his, arching his neck to give Blaine's mouth better access.

This is not going to last anywhere near as long as he wants it to. Kurt’s never felt this needy in bed, mind clouded with pure want, not just the need to come but the need to be closer, to have more of Blaine, to be connected.

“So gorgeous.” Blaine’s breath on his throat feels hot enough to brand, the words whispered into his skin with reverence. “Love you.”

Kurt lets out a low moan, reaching to draw Blaine’s head up into a searing kiss, nipping at his lips and tangling their tongues together while Blaine pushes against him with growing desperation.

“So fucking much, Blaine," he pants against Blaine's mouth. "I love you so-- oh _god_ that's good.”

He twines his fingers in Blaine’s hair and tugs, is rewarded with a long, shattered groan that has him pulling harder, tilting Blaine’s head back to expose his throat so he can lick and suck at the pulse point, feel the vibration of Blaine’s whine against his lips. The taste of Blaine’s skin is fast becoming addictive.

Blaine pistons his hips forward and groans, fingers twisting in the sheets near Kurt’s head, and Kurt’s fairly sure they're both going to come really, really soon.

Except, Blaine’s moving, drawing back, putting some space between their bodies as he kneels up on all fours and stares down at Kurt with dark, lust-blown eyes. They’re both panting heavily, and Kurt let's out a loud groan of protest at the loss of contact.

“Do you want...” Blaine’s voice is low and breathless and shaky, words breaking and trailing off as he struggles to catch his breath. “Do you have--”

Understanding hits him and Kurt stretches to fumble blindly through his bedside drawer, eyes never leaving Blaine’s as he drops a condom and a bottle of K-Y on the bed. It’s been a while for him, and he knows it’s been far longer for Blaine, but god, he _wants_ this.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Blaine reaches for the lube and Kurt shifts, moving to draw his legs out from beneath Blaine’s kneeling body so he can lift them, but Blaine stops him with a hand on his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle.

“I want... can I...” Blaine drops to straddle Kurt’s hips, grinding down, tearing a broken mewl from the back of Kurt’s throat.

“Yes,” Kurt nods, “god, yes.” He reaches to take the lube-- “here, let me,”-- but Blaine moves it out of reach, shaking his head minutely.

“If you even breathe on me right now I’m gonna come, just...” his hand disappears behind him and Kurt matches his groan, closing his eyes against the sight of Blaine fingering himself open because _holy jesus fuck that is not even fair_.

Eyes closed, imagination takes over and he thinks about Blaine doing this to himself, alone, getting himself ready for something long and silicone and not nearly as satisfying as the real thing. That thought has him twisting his hands in the sheets, forcibly restraining them from grabbing his dick and getting himself off right now.

He opens his eyes when he hears the rustle of the condom wrapper, gritting his teeth around a desperate moan when Blaine grips him at the base and rolls the condom on, slicking him up with lube.

“Jesus, Kurt, I’ve wanted this for... I don’t even know. Since I met you?” Blaine’s voice is hushed and breathy, fingers stroking over Kurt’s length absently while he talks, like he doesn’t even realise that he’s driving Kurt insane. “I think I wanted you that first day.”

Kurt huffs a breath, smoothing his hands up the back of Blaine’s thighs to cup his ass. “Oh, that always happens when I throw food on people,” he says, aiming for sarcastic but he’s trembling and panting so that probably ruins the effect. “Can we please have sex now? If I don’t come soon I’m going to die.”

Blaine laughs shakily and pitches forward to kiss him, wringing simultaneous groans from both of them when their erections brush together. He straightens, thighs tensing as he raises himself up, and then everything goes hazy and white around the edges.

Kurt’s breath stutters when Blaine starts to sink down, taking him in one agonizing inch at a time. It’s the best thing Kurt’s ever felt. Their eyes lock and hold and the whole world narrows to this, heat and connection and need, pinpoint sharp and devastatingly good.

Blaine makes a small, stunned sound and settles flush against Kurt’s hips, eyes closing as he draws in a long breath. He’s so fucking beautiful. Kurt wants to touch him everywhere at once, wants to thrust up into him until he cries out, but he forces himself not to move.

Blaine reaches out to grasp one of his hands, threading their fingers together and holding on as he lifts up. He sinks back down again with a whimper, mouth going slack, and starts a slow, simmering roll that makes Kurt shudder and keen and rise up to meet him.

They stay in that rhythm for long minutes, rocking together, bodies straining and climbing higher. Kurt feels the exact moment Blaine starts to lose it.

“Oh, fuck, please, Kurt, I have to--”

“Yeah, come on.”

Blaine’s eyes fly open and he stares down at Kurt’s face, jaw clenching as he struggles to hold onto the rhythm. He's so close.

Kurt tells himself to hold out just a little longer, wants to see Blaine go over first.

“Blaine, I--- oh, _fuck_.” Kurt's head arches back into the pillow as Blaine starts to buck, faster and harder, groaning and gasping out short little puffs of breath with every downward slam of his hips.

“Kurt. _Kurt_ , oh my god.” Blaine reaches for himself but Kurt gets their first, stroking him in perfect counterpoint, watching him shatter. He loses all finesse and just bucks frantically, grinding himself down onto Kurt's cock until he spills, mouth falling open on a soundless scream. It’s the hottest thing Kurt has ever seen.

Kurt hovers agonisingly on the brink of his own orgasm for a long moment, feeling Blaine contract around him one more time before he starts to tip over.

He comes _hard_ , arching back into the bed, gulping desperately for air and feeling like he might shake apart at any moment. He didn't even know anything could _be_ this good.

Blaine falls forward without warning, boneless, and Kurt only just has the presence of mind to catch him. He twists them sideways and they reach for each other, tangling together with their pulses still racing and their chests heaving, trying to remember how to breathe.

It takes Kurt a long time to get his brain back online, but when he eventually opens his eyes, Blaine is watching him with that soft look he gets, a small, indecipherable smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” Kurt huffs, bumping their foreheads together playfully.

Blaine laughs, snaking an arm around Kurt’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. “Nothing, just...” he shrugs, pausing to nuzzle at the side of Kurt’s neck for a moment. “Everything is going to be okay.” He leans back to meet Kurt’s gaze, smiling that smile, the real one that crinkles up the corners of his eyes.

Kurt suddenly has to swallow a lump in his throat. He pulls Blaine in, buries his face in soft curls and lets himself dwell on the revelation that not only does he have this now, he gets to keep it.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~**


	9. Epilogue

~*~*~*~

They’ve repainted the dressing rooms a horrifying pastel green since Kurt was last here, but at least the coffee is still good. He leans back in his chair and takes a sip, watching on the wall-mounted flat screen as Blaine does a ridiculous little shimmy over the coffee table with Ellen before taking his seat.

“How are you? Congratulations on your engagement,” Ellen says and Blaine grins brightly while they wait for the cheering and applause to die down in the audience. Kurt twists the ring on his finger and smiles.

Opening night of _Across the Universe_ , Kurt had run off stage for intermission with the last fading notes of ‘Blackbird’ echoing behind him to find Blaine waiting in the wings, looking slightly manic.

“I wasn’t going to do it like this,” he’d said shakily before Kurt could ask him what was wrong. “God, I don’t even have the ring with me. But I just--” and he’d dropped to one knee.

The speech that followed had obviously been rehearsed-- nobody comes up with lines like ‘I’ve been looking for you forever’ off the cuff, not even Blaine-- but Kurt hasn’t gotten around to asking him how long he tried to plan the perfect proposal before giving it up for something spontaneous and perfect.

On the screen, Blaine is nodding his head in agreement with the audience’s enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he says when they start to settle, “thank you very much. I’m a pretty lucky guy.”

“So do you guys have a date set; have you started planning the ceremony yet?”

Blaine nods. “We do have a date. I’m not going to tell you when that is,” he grins, shifting in his seat, “but yes, we do know when and where it’s happening.” Kurt nods approvingly. Blaine knows better than to tell anyone anything.

“Oh come on, just between us,” Ellen wheedles, drawing a chuckle from the audience.

“I will say, planning a wedding is way more fun than I thought it would be.” Kurt grins into his coffee, thinking of their continuing quest for the perfect wedding playlist. It always seems to begin with dancing and end with sex on the couch.

“Right,” Ellen says, “because you see in all the movies, it’s supposed to be this big stressful thing...”

“Yeah, and we just.. I mean, I don’t know,” Blaine shrugs, “maybe that’s coming, but so far Kurt and I have just been having a lot of fun with it.”

Ellen nods attentively. “Well that’s nice, that you guys are enjoying that. And you’re about to make your debut on Broadway...”

“I am,” Blaine straightens, grinning up at the picture of himself in dress rehearsal on the giant screen behind him. “It’s the Broadway revival of _West Side Story_. I’m really excited about it.”

“And is it true that it opens the same week as--”

“--as Kurt starts his run in _Wicked_ , yeah.” Blaine chuckles, turning to address both the audience and the camera. “We actually have a bet riding on it, so if you could all go see my show before you see his, that would be great.” Kurt laughs, wondering if Blaine even realizes how happy Kurt would be to lose.

Ellen laughs along with the audience. “So there’s a little bit of competition?”

“A little bit; we like to tease each other about it.” Blaine shrugs, smiling. “But mostly it’s... I mean he’s seasoned, he kind of knows all the tricks of the trade, so it’s been really good to have that, just to kind of help me get prepared.” Kurt smiles. He can’t wait to see Blaine up on that stage.

“And was it two years ago that you came out?”

Blaine nods easily. “Two years, yeah. That was pretty crazy.”

Kurt snorts at the understatement. “Crazy” doesn’t even begin to cover the number of pushy people with cameras who followed them both around for weeks after. Kurt’s original estimate of a few days peace turned out to be grossly over the mark; the first picture of the two of them together was on the gossip blogs within an hour of them leaving Kurt’s apartment that same afternoon.

He still has that picture, actually. He’s not sure what strange compulsion made him snip it out of OK! Magazine and keep it, but it’s at home in one of his desk drawers somewhere. It’s not even a good photo. It’s grainy and dark, not a paparrazzi shot; a photo snapped on someone’s camera phone through the front windshield of Blaine’s car and sold to a tabloid for a small fortune. The quality is bad, but it’s definitely them, and if you look closely-- or if you magnify the image and put a great red circle around it, like _US Weekly_ did-- you can see that they’re holding hands.

And so went Kurt’s first foray into the tabloids. It hasn’t let up much since, but he’s used to it now and his family and friends know not to believe anything they read.

Ellen cocks her head interestedly, sitting forward in her chair. “And how has your career been affected by that; did things change after you made that decision to come out, or...? ”

Blaine nods. “I mean, there have been roles that I wanted that I’ve been turned down for that-- they never really say that that’s why, but you kind of just know.” He shrugs, playing idly with a button on his suit jacket. “But mostly, I mean any time that’s happened there’s usually another even better thing right around the corner, so I don’t really dwell on it. I look at my life now and my life before and I’m just so much happier now.”

Kurt feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the truth of that. Blaine is so much more relaxed and content without the impending spectre of being outed hanging over his head.

Not that everything has been sunshine and roses. Blaine’s relationship with his father is non-existent these days, and Kurt knows it hurts him. Not only that, his acting career has been affected exactly as he'd predicted it would; he hasn’t played a leading role in a single major movie since he came out. And nobody buys the line that Blaine’s character was written out of _Center Stage_ because it served the story. The showrunners didn’t want a gay actor playing the boyfriend of their most popular female character; it’s just the way these things work.

There are trade-offs, though. Blaine's last album won a Grammy. He genuinely loves acting again, now that he’s not working in a string of high budget, low content romantic comedies. He’s just sold his first screenplay. Kurt knows he’s going to love the stage. And more than that, he’s free to be himself. Blaine’s not lying when he says he’s happier.

Kurt lets out a preemptive chuckle as Ellen picks up a magazine from her side table; he recognizes that issue. “It probably helps that _Out Magazine_ has just named you their ‘Hottest Hollywood Heartthrob,’ right?”

“Oh, that’s why I did it,” Blaine deadpans, striking a pose.

The audience laughs and Ellen gives him a warm smile, holding up the jewel case for Blaine’s new album. “Well, congratulations on all your success, you deserve it. The new album, _Do Not Erase_ , is out next week and everyone in the audience is receiving a copy. We’ll be right back.”

Smiling, Kurt drains the rest of his coffee and calls their driver while he waits for Blaine to make his way back to the dressing room. They’re flying home to New York tonight, both back in rehearsal tomorrow, but first they’re meeting Mike at _Espresso Cielo_ \-- Mike wants to talk to Blaine about coming onboard for a new charity project he’s working on with his dance crew-- and Kurt wants to hurry that along. There are a few things he needs to do back at the hotel before they fly out, and by ‘a few things’ he mostly means Blaine.

The door opens and Blaine appears, grinning hello as he pulls Kurt in by his shirt front.

“Nice interview,” Kurt says into the kiss. He means to say more, to call Blaine out on inciting his army of fans to win their bet for him, but Blaine doesn’t let him speak. He deepens the kiss without warning, sweeping his tongue playfully into Kurt’s mouth and pressing him backwards over his arm until Kurt huffs a laugh into his mouth and pushes back.

“C’mon, heartthrob; we haven’t got all day.” He shoves Blaine away with a laugh. “Let’s get out of here. Don’t forget your phone.” Taking his own advice, he grabs his BlackBerry up from the coffee table and starts toward the door.

“Why such a hurry? We’ve got ages.” Blaine catches him by the sleeve, pulling him close again so he can drop a light kiss to the side of Kurt’s neck.

“Hmm, exactly.” Kurt grins. Tonight they’ll be travel tired and tomorrow they’ve both got full-day rehearsals, but the rest of today is theirs, and he would like to make good use of that time.

Blaine still hasn’t caught on, so Kurt raises a teasing eyebrow and runs a hand through Blaine's hair, tugging lightly. “We hardly ever get time off at the same time; do you want to dawdle through the day or do you want to go back to the hotel and get dirty with me?”

Blaine’s eyes widen and he snatches Kurt’s phone from his hand, bringing up a blank text field.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Mike,” Blaine answers, thumbs tapping rapidly on the touch screen. “Ellen taping going to run late... skype tomorrow instead?… Let me know.”

He hits send and hands the phone back. “Okay, let’s go.”

Kurt grabs his messenger bag and Blaine’s phone from the dressing table while Blaine hovers in the door.

“C’mon Kurt, we haven’t got all day!”

Laughing, Kurt pushes him out into the hallway.

~*~*~*~  
end.


End file.
